


Marriage of Convenience

by beaebex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Grace Bonds, Light Bondage, Marriage, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 08:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 48,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2501366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaebex/pseuds/beaebex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Reader Fic.]  Certain factions of heaven are on your tail, the consequence of your death a trigger to greater destruction.  In order to protect your life and others, you agree to an old custom that prevents any heavenly agent from harming you.   The basic ritual?  You have to marry an angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Do

**Author's Note:**

> There is no blood or disturbing content, but if you're squicked out by anything happening to the lower arm/wrist region, then note this chapter has a moment when that area is used to access the grace/soul.

This right here.This was the answer to everything.   If enquiring minds ever sought an explanation— _how is it that you, Y/N, renowned for an easy heart and easier libido, could possibly live with two hunky hero types and not spend your days conceiving inappropriate scenarios?_ —then this was the answer.    Dirty laundry.   Because the boys were often swamped with work, a fair enough justification, you had shouldered a fair deal of the bunker chores.   You had consequently seen enough dirty underwear to last a lifetime.   Bumbling and awkward as you might have been upon meeting them, after six months as resident prophet in their admittedly kickass bunker, any menial tension had dissolved.  

You would sooner kiss a gerbil. 

 _Well_ , you thought frankly, grimacing as you dropped a pair of boxers into the washing machine, _there is one lingering possibility…_

You supposed there were few mortals who could resist the temptation that was Castiel, Smouldering Angel of the Lord.   He was a collection of contradictory attributes bound in one dreamy, mysterious, husky-voiced  package.   You had barely spoken with him, exchanges limited to polite greetings and vague acknowledgements, but that heated blue stare and handsome form supplied enough fantasies on their own.  

Unfortunately, despite a colourful mind, your experience in the sex and romance department was limited to… well, did airport frisks count?   

With a resigned sigh,  you poured laundry detergent into the appropriate compartment.   Maybe if you didn’t aim your prospects so damn high—angel?  _really_?—then you would have better luck with the relationship pursuits.   Not that it really mattered now seeing as you couldn’t exactly party hard outside the bunker.    As usual, the only thing fucking you over was your shit luck.  

You were not only _a_ prophet but apparently _the_ prophet.   You were the human source which heaven could utilize to completely eradicate all future prophets.   That meant killing you in some backward ritual, effectively killing countless people down the line as well.   That was a catastrophe even without the  collateral damage that could spring from having no prophets ever, _ever_ again.   Heaven was warring, as per usual, but if you fell into the wrong hands then a lot of people would suffer. 

You especially. 

You weren’t sure why you were so special, though Castiel had explained it that first night.  Something about being a prophet but also a strong vessel and being born under a certain cosmic alignment or something.   Honestly, your brain had been scattered that night.  Not to mention Castiel was kinda hard to listen to when he was simultaneously marching around with an intense stare, heaving chest, blood streaked face, taut muscles, silver blade—

You cleared your throat and closed the laundry machine.   It was probably a good thing Castiel’s visits were few and far between.   Sparse in your case, at least.   He helped the Winchesters on their hunts but you rarely saw him.   Castiel clearly held no interest in you.   It was probably for the best, however bitter you were. 

 _“Hey, Y/N!”_ Dean’s echoing voice startled you.  The boys had left on a case and though you expected them back today, you hadn’t heard them come in.  You placed the laundry basket on the floor and left the room, making for the library.   You were still dressed down, sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair unwashed and knotted in a messy bun, but it was just the Winchesters and you didn’t particularly care. 

You regretted those innocent musings immediately.   Sam and Dean were nattering about something but your attention shattered.   The remaining broken pieces fell onto Castiel who, upon your appearance, glanced over.   You froze in place, holding that stare with plain horror.   Castiel was standing between Sam and Dean though he was not invested in their conversation.   But he soon looked away from you as well, an almost angry furrow in his brow as he turned his head.

 _Rude_ , you thought, pouting.  You weren’t exactly Miss America at the moment but you hardly deserved to be shunned into oblivion.  

But you conceded your assumption was ridiculous.  Whatever bothered Castiel had nothing to do with you.    The shit was hitting the fan up in heaven, spilling across the earth in consequence, and his mind was no doubt occupied with higher deeds.     The glance he spared you was fleeting and empty, his dark expression leant to a greater purpose. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Dean suddenly interjected.   You looked at him, staring dumbly.   “Doin’ all right there, Cinderella?” 

“What?” you asked, then shook your head to clear your thoughts.   “Yeah, yeah.  Of course.  What’s up?  How’d the hunt go?”

“We weren’t hunting,” Castiel surprised you with an answer.   His brow was still creased, jaw stiff.   He glanced at you before turning aside, taking a few steps nowhere.  

“Oh,” you said, confused.   “I thought—okay.  What did you do that took a week and a half?  Or is this one of those _‘Y/N, don’t ask because you’re not crawling into my bed when you get nightmares again’_ things?”   In fairness, you totally only did that once. 

“It’s not our beds you should be worrying about,” Dean said, tone jesting but the joke beyond you.  You looked at him strangely while Sam heaved a breath, tossing his brother a dry regard.

“Dean,” he said sharply, then looked at you.   “What he means is... it concerns you.” 

“What concerns me?” you asked, not sure if you were scared or annoyed.   You stepped closer to the table which divided you and the boys.   Castiel had wandered a few chairs down and seated himself.   He propped his elbow on the table and rested his temple against his fist, gaze cast aside.   You didn’t trust yourself to look at him for long, something weirdly sexy about the casual arm slung over the back of the chair, so you looked at Sam and Dean.  They appeared to be sharing a wordless discussion before Sam gestured to the table.  

“You should, ah, probably sit down for this,” he said.   With a wary glance, you pulled out a chair and slowly sat.  

 “Are you kicking me out?” you asked, though you didn’t think that was the case.   That would be news worth celebrating because it meant the boys had vanquished the threat looming over your head.    You might have received the news poorly, having almost no life to return to after everything and having grown fond of your new friends, but they had no reason to struggle.  

“Not exactly,” Dean said, light-heartedness fracturing beneath a frown.

“Yeah, you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you want,” Sam said, sitting opposite you.   He looked at you with those soft eyes usually reserved for special cases.   Your tense shoulders slackened and you nodded a bit, following.   

 “So what’s going on then?”  you asked. 

“Well,” Dean said, “the good news is, we found a way to get heaven off your ass.”  You smiled, legitimately relieved now that they extended an invitation to stay.     

“Well, that’s great,” you said, then considered Dean’s phrasing.   “What’s the bad news?”

“Bad news,” Dean said, sweeping his hand in gesticulation to Castiel.   “You have to hitch a flyboy.” 

You paused for a moment, reconciling Dean’s odd idioms with what they entailed.   When you realized exactly what he meant, you paused for another moment and almost forgot to breathe.  

“What?” you eventually burst, mouth suddenly dry, tongue scraping words like sandpaper.   “What… what do you… what…” 

“It’s part of some ancient canon,” Sam quickly said, scholastic facts pouring like they could soften the blow.   “Basically… while angels were mostly condemned for fraternizing with humans, there was this exception written into the code of heaven that basically said an angel could take a vessel and, so long as the vessel was empty, that angel could marry a prophet.   Not just any prophet, though—”

“Let me guess,” you grumbled, bare toes idly stabbing the cold floor, “Prophet.  Vessel.   Stars and destiny and stuff.” 

“Uh, kinda.  Yeah,” Sam said.  “The rule was clearly designed for something like this.  Heaven knew that if the right prophet came along, they could pose a threat, intentional or not, so they created a loophole to save themselves.” 

“Hey, look, we don’t like this anymore than you,” Dean said, stepping up to the table and leaning over.  “That’s why you gotta know that you can back out if you don’t think you can do this.   We can find another way.” 

“We’re kinda running low on options here,” Sam said, tentatively.   He looked from Dean to you.   “But Dean’s right.  We won’t force you to do anything.” 

 “What… what does this marriage even _do_?” you asked, this torrent of information flooding quickly at your feet. 

“It marks you as, you know…”  Sam looked for the word.  “ _Holy_.  No angel, not even anyone working for an angel, can hurt you once you’ve been bound.”

“It’s an everlasting accord,” Castiel said, standing up.   He looked at you with a no-nonsense expression.  “It will protect you for eternity but… it expects reciprocation.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked. 

“It means once you’re married, you’re married,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly growing uncomfortable with the proposition.  “You can’t just get a quickie divorce and hit up Vegas for round two.”

“No adultery either,” Sam said.  “There’s not necessarily an expectation that you’ll _love_ your husband or anything, but if you intentionally break the vow itself then the entire marriage is annulled.”

“And you’re back to square one,” Dean finished.   You rubbed your temple and then took pause, your stomach knotting indubitably.   You supposed the answer was fairly obvious and still, you really had to ask…

“Who will I be marrying?” you asked.  Dean went to answer but Castiel, without hesitation, spoke.

“I volunteered,” Castiel said, looking at you more tenderly now that some of the awkward tension had subsided.  “Of course.” 

“Of course,” you repeated.  You could feel the heat in your cheeks but the boys thankfully refrained from commenting, obviously reading your faint distress and respecting it.  Any other time, they probably would have teased you for it.  They didn’t necessarily know about your crush on the angel but you supposed anyone could infer from your insistent blushes and stammering phrases.  At this particular moment, you couldn’t even conjure a stammer.  It felt like your stomach had flipped upside down—hell, it felt like the _world_ had flipped upside down.   Not five minutes ago you were standing by yourself over a pile of dirty laundry, mourning your sorry excuse for a love life.  Now you were some blushing Victorian maiden being bartered off to a baron to secure your family. 

You knew the boys would never make you do anything.  They were the captains of free will and they never went down without a fight.   If this didn’t work, they would probably search for something else.   Would it be to any avail though?  It had already been six months and this was the first thing that could do any good.  And you liked living here but needless to say, you missed the outside world.   Sam and Dean took you out on occasion but they were glued to your side the entire time.   You missed taking walks by yourself and just enjoying the quiet of your activities. 

This marriage seemed like an easy out.   Honestly, you weren’t convinced you would otherwise marry anyway.   You wouldn’t exactly be leaving a string of broken hearts in your wake. 

And it was, in the end, Castiel.  You had no delusions about the outcome of events.   You knew this was a strictly professional arrangement.   All the same, glancing at him now, your heart palpitated with promise.   You could marry _Castiel_.   What a strange universe.  There was actually a legitimate reason for you to marry him.   Anxious and fidgety as you were, it would be ridiculous to refuse this.   Perhaps you and Castiel would become better friends and, in the process, you could ensure your own safety, your own freedom, the safety and freedom of generations to come, and, on more superficial terms, you could tell people you were married and your husband was a _babe_. 

The boys watched you puzzle this out.  Feeling a little better, though a faint blush still coloured your cheeks, you smiled.   You were a bit too scared to glance at Castiel, fearing your blush would worsen and nerves return, but you nodded to the Winchesters. 

“I’ll do it,” you said.  “This is important and… and yes, I’m fine with it.”

“You’re sure?”  Dean asked.  “Because there’s no turning back.   Once you’re married, that’s it.  You’re stuck with this mook for eternity.”  He jabbed a thumb in Castiel’s direction. 

“I understand,” you said, a soft pit aching in your stomach.  You had no delusions about Castiel, true.   You never did.   But in the back of your mind, there was always a romantic yearning for something _somewhere_.   If you agreed to marry Castiel then that would never happen.  But if you hid in the bunker for the rest of your life anyway, wouldn’t the same fate unfold?  Even if they did find another way to save you, which sounded highly unlikely anyway, how many years would go by?   How would you feel by the end of it?   You had to resign yourself to the simple truth that an epic romance was simply not written in your cards.  You had been dealt your hand and there were no substitutions for human life.   You had to play the game before you.  

“There is one more thing,” Castiel said.  You swallowed a lump in your throat and blinked over, found him staring at you.   “The marriage must be consummated.” 

You actually _felt_ the heat laden in your belly.  _Consummate_ was a relatively unsexy word but every last fantasy and daydream suddenly exploded in your head.  You didn’t say anything but your breath caught.  Castiel continued, maybe a bit flustered beneath a serious countenance. 

“The marriage is invalid if it’s not physically consummated,” he said.  “It’s between the mortal and divine, so it must be committed in human terms and celestial ones.”   You had no idea what a celestial consummation entailed but _god_ , you could feel it in your toes.   Your blush had returned full force and your gaze locked on Castiel while he spoke.   “Until it’s done, heaven won’t recognize the marriage.   You would, effectively, be swearing yourself to nothing.”   He paused, reading your apprehension and speaking with what reassurance he could muster.   “You don’t need to worry,” he said, “I won’t intrude on your space or bed after that night.”   That fell over you like a cold blanket, shocking you out of your existing surprise.   You blinked rapidly, looking away from him.   “I am sorry, Y/N,” he said, voice low.  “If there was another way—”

“No, no,” you said, voice squeaking.   You cleared your throat, smiled at thin air.   “No, it’s fine, Cas.  Really.  I just… didn’t expect heaven to get so physical.” 

“Heaven is a determined congregation,” he said.   You looked his way but did not meet his eye, your gaze falling at chest level.   You followed the buttons of his trenchcoat with fake interest.  “They won’t rest until they’ve achieved what they sought to do.   With a look at your soul, they can decipher whether your marriage has been validated.   It’s a means of proving the union.”

“Proof of purchase, basically,” Dean offered.   You looked at him, having almost forgotten the Winchesters were there.   Sam was looking at you with concern, gentle and kind.   Dean crossed his arms.  You braved face even if your insides had turned to mush all over again.  

“I get it,” you said.  “No worries.  It’s just…”  You pushed your chair out and they all straightened, bracing themselves as if they expected you to swoon or something.   _God almighty_ , you inwardly swore, _I really am a Victorian maiden._ Someone was going to be running off for smelling salts at this rate.    “It’s just a lot to take in,” you finished, smiling, backing out of the room.   “I… I’ll still do it, of course.  I just… I just need to… rest, I think…”  You almost tripped, stumbling through the doorway.  The boys leaned forward and you waved your hand.   “Fine!  I’m fine!  I got it.  I’ll, uh, see you all later.” 

With that said, you sprinted down the corridor and made for your room.

* * *

 

The wedding, if it could even be called that, was scheduled for a Saturday.   You barely slept the night before, nervous when you thought about being declared someone’s wife and when you considered that this time tomorrow, you wouldn’t be alone in your bed. 

The big day arrived without any pomp or ceremony.   There were apparently a few rituals to enact but the boys would no doubt take care of it.   You figured your biggest worry was “I do”.    Not that this was a typical, straightforward wedding.   The process was more complicated, long-winded, and there was no literal “I do” or even kiss at the end. 

The ceremony apparently had to be conducted by a cherub and Castiel knew a trustworthy cupid.   He would be brought to the bunker to bind you in excessively holy matrimony, your sole spectators Sam and Dean.  The cherub was delivered to the dungeon, Castiel in charge of wrangling him.   They weren’t about to give away the bunker’s location, even if Castiel promised the cupid was trustworthy, but getting married in the open would basically send a beacon to the troops of heaven.   _Last chance to capture me, fellas!_  No, it was better this way.   Even if it meant your wedding was conducted in a dungeon.  

You hoped that wasn’t a poetic reflection of anything. 

The boys made some effort to ease the weirdness.   Sam gave you a dress, not a wedding dress but a formal lace thing, claiming Dean picked it out and Sam wasn’t supposed to say.  The boys wore their FBI suits even though the formality was unnecessary.   Somehow, it did make things easier.  It allowed you to comfortably address the obvious—this was a marriage, technically—while also keeping spirits light.

Sam escorted you to the not-so-lavish quarters.   Dean was standing there in his FBI suit, adjusting Castiel’s tie.  Castiel was in his usual ensemble, eyes downturned.  Dean looked over when you entered the room.   He grinned wolfishly. 

“Would you look at that,” Dean said, tugging on Cas’s tie.  “Prophet cleans up nice, hey?”   Castiel’s glance was somewhat dry.  He adjusted his own tie and Dean stepped away. 

“Thank you, Dean,” you said, gathering some of the lace in your hands and spreading the skirt.   The dress only fell to your knees but had a slight poof nonetheless.   “My compliments to whoever picked it out,” you teased.   Dean glared at Sam, good-humoured.

“Yeah, I’ll pass that on to the son of a bitch,” Dean said.  Sam rolled his eyes and you smiled between them.   Castiel, who was spending way too much time adjusting that tie of his, still hadn’t met your gaze.   He flipped the fabric a couple more times, shifting the knot.   Then he swallowed and turned, nodding to you. 

“Y/N,” he said.   His gaze only briefly appraised you but it sent your heart fluttering anyway.   “You look very nice.”

“Thanks, Cas,” you said.   Not much else could be exchanged because another character ambled out of the shadows, holding a book in his hand.    The excited cupid wasted little time, launching into commencement—and dramatic embraces. 

The ceremony began in the morning and did not end until late afternoon.   Though you understood Enochian fluently, an aspect of your prophetic gifts, the language was superfluously embellished and often ancient in its chosen vernacular.   You barely followed along but Castiel knew the way, guiding you.   At a moment, he held your hand, and you thought it was part of the ritual.  Not so.   Your nerves had bested you and he must have sensed it, his thumb running soothing patterns over your knuckles.   You weren’t sure if it helped or made things worse. 

It took eternity and a day, but the ceremony did conclude in the afternoon.  With the officiating complete and ceremony ended, you knew very well what came next.

Or, at least, you thought you knew.   

 Your marriage could be consummated at any time—and you attempted not to shiver when you thought too deeply—but for some reason you assumed it would follow the sacrament.  Apparently not.  

You were separated from your husband—husband, _husband_!—as Sam led you to the library, leaving Castiel and Dean to return the cherub from whence he came.   Sam tossed his suit jacket over a chair and loosened his tie, distracting you with light-hearted commentary until the other two returned. 

And when they returned, they had pizza. 

So it was an unusual wedding and an unusual marriage.  Anyone could admit that.   But as afternoon bled into evening and eventually night, you forgot every oddity and fell into a comfortable peace with your friends.   Sam and Dean broke out the liquor, pizza boxes scattered across the library table, a pie prepared at Dean’s behest.    You didn’t drink much, honestly a little worried to lose your inhibitions.  You weren’t sure if it would help or worsen the situation you would inevitably face.  You decided to keep your faculties clear.  

The evening progressed.  Stories were swapped.   It was nearing midnight when things slowed down.   You glanced at the clock and the radio fizzed out, and you felt your stomach knot and nerves coil, a blush already painting your cheeks as you ground yourself in the moment.  

You chanced to look at Castiel.  He was watching Sam and Dean but glanced over.  This time you did not look away, heart not so much racing as beating loud in your ears.   Castiel returned your stare, a pensive gleam in his eye, then he turned aside to muse privately.   You exhaled and looked down, fidgeted with the hem of your dress.  

“We’ll go to bed now,” Sam said, barely sober, nudging Dean through the doorway.   “You guys, uh…”

“Good night!” a drunken Dean bellowed, stumbling out the library.   Sam just smiled sympathetically.

“Yeah,” he said.  “Good night.” 

And then they were both gone and it was just you and your husband.   Your almost husband.  There was still one more step to legitimize the union.  You tried to quell your nerves and smiled tensely at a quiet Castiel.   A table sat between you, one he slowly approached.   His hand swiped the polished oak before he lifted his gaze, blue eyes burning into yours. 

“Do you want to go to bed?” he asked.  By the natural gravel of his voice, that question could sound dirty _without_ knowing its double meaning.  But you did know what he meant.  It suddenly wasn’t so easy to hide your nerves.  Your chest heaved with a shaky breath but you maintained your smile. 

“Yeah,” you finally said, your own voice scraping low tones.   You cleared your throat, circling the table.   “Sounds good.” 

The walk to your room was quiet, Castiel’s footsteps echoing behind you. 

 “You should wear shoes,” he said, noting your bare feet. You wondered why his gaze had fallen so low on your body that he would notice.    “There are strange things in this bunker.  You wouldn’t want to contract something by accidental—”

“Look at you,” you interrupted, attempting to joke because it seemed like a safe fall-back.   You reached your bedroom door and paused outside.   “Barely even married and you’re already trying to tell me what to do.”   Castiel could confuse humour on the best of days and your uncertain tone didn’t help matters.   He heard your words for what they were and nodded solemnly.

“I apologize,” he said.  “It wasn’t my intention.  I only meant to suggest—”

“It’s okay, Cas,” you said quickly.  Wow, this was not off to a good start.   “Um, why don’t we just…”  You stopped short, not sure you could finish.  Castiel tipped his head.   You turned away and cranked the doorknob, rushing into the room.   You held the door open and Castiel stepped in, somehow looking so big in the doorway.   You swallowed as he swept past, slowly closing the door as he wandered further in.   The door closed and locked with a gentle click.  

You remained there for a moment, hands on the doorframe, gaze falling nowhere particular, breath levelling. 

“Y/N,” Castiel said, and your name was spoken with a sort of sorrow.   You looked over your shoulder, saw him standing in the middle of your room.  His hands were at his sides, his regard gentle if not wary.   “I won’t force myself on you,” he said.  “Please, don’t feel obligated…”  He stepped to the side, his gaze never leaving you.   “You’re safe in the bunker.  We can consummate our marriage when you’re comfortable.”    

You supposed it was easy for him to conflate your nerves with reservation.   You faced him squarely, wrung your hands.

“I am comfortable, Castiel,” you said.  “Don’t worry, I… I am definitely okay with this.”   He didn’t look entirely convinced, gaze focussed like he analyzed each breath you took.   It was then a thought occurred to you, a very reasonable one.  After all, your attraction to Castiel was more than apparent, but he never showed any signs of interest in you.   If there was anyone grappling the strings of basic consent…   “Cas,” you said quickly, absolutely not wanting to hurt him anymore than he did you, “if you don’t feel comfortable then we don’t have to.  I know I’m not—and we’re not—and it’s okay.  Like you said, the bunker is safe and I can wait—”

“Y/N,” he said, and seemed faintly amused now, “sleeping with you would not be difficult or burdensome.” 

“Oh.”  _Oh_.  “Well, I… good.  Good.  That’s good.” 

You received a faint smile at that, a barely perceptible nod of his head.   Then he sighed a bit, looking around himself. 

“Should we… begin?”  he asked, looking at you.  You were still recovering from the implied compliment.  Tumbling out of your own silly mind, you measured the large gap of space between you and Castiel.   Your blood thundered hotly with promise of that distance shortening.   You nodded wordlessly, head bobbing.   You took another breath and placed your hands on your own waist, glancing at Cas just as his fingers prepared a snap.     

“Whoa—wait,” you said, guessing his objective.  He paused, hand still in the air.   “What are you doing?”

“I was… removing our clothes.” His brow furrowed, confusion evident.  

“I thought so,” you said with a gasp, waving a hand.   “Um, don’t do that.  Not like that.  I  just… let’s go slow, yeah?”   Good thing you caught that one.   Suddenly standing naked across a naked Castiel might have sent you hurtling to the floor.   Hopefully those smelling salts weren’t off the table.  

“I apologize,” Castiel said sincerely, lowering his hand.  “I assumed you would want to finish this quickly.” 

“I, um,” you stammered, tearing your gaze from him.   You weren’t sure why it was so hard to admit but you couldn’t force your next words.  Castiel watched you, mildly fretful.   You sucked in a breath and exhaled it just as quickly.   “I’m sorry,” you said.  “I’m just… I’m just kind of nervous.  I’ve never…”   He tipped his head, attempting to find your roving gaze.   You slowly looked at him, his imploring regard.  It eased your nerves but barely, your stomach still wound in knots.  

“Never,” he repeated, vast celestial mind uncovering multiple truths.   He straightened and looked at you dead-on, seeming confident in his supposition.   “Sex with an angel,” he said.   He stepped closer to you but not with intent, more like a sage mentor delivering a lecture.  “I understand it can be daunting.   There was a reason heaven outlawed our relations in the first place, though I confess that most of those laws have proven to be archaic and unreasonable.   But you don’t need to have any fears.   You’re not a normal human… and truth be told I’m hardly a normal angel.   And I can prevent pregnancy, if you fear that as well.”   He just kept going and you couldn’t find an appropriate moment to interject.   “There is only one deviation from human intercourse in our case, consummating our union on the celestial plane, but I will show you what to do.   It’s a very simple matter.”

“Cas,” you said, his words reassuring in all ways but one.   For some reason, you still couldn’t force the v-word past your lips.   Castiel looked at you oddly.   You gestured sort of helplessly around yourself.   “That, uh, that wasn’t what I meant.”

He looked a bit confused, contemplative, eyes squinting.

Then realization dawned on him all at once.  You had never seen his face commit to such open and sudden expression.   His gaze dropped over your body and then settled on your face, his voice once more certain.

“You’re a virgin,” he said.   You nodded.   He stared at you a minute and then frowned, seeming truly distressed with this information.   He turned away and creased his brow.  “I wish you would have told me,” he said, mind clearly somewhere else.   You crossed your arms self-consciously over your chest, a bit surprised at his response.   It was tricky for you to vocalize but you were a human and silly insecurities were inherent in your nature.   But it wasn’t a big deal, in the end, and you had no idea why Castiel was so badly affected by this. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, because you didn’t know what else to say.  Castiel looked at you again, startled by your words. 

“Sorry?” he repeated, stepping towards you once more.  “Why should you apologize?  I’m the one responsible for this.”  

You laughed, a choked sound, at the absurdity of his remark.   

“Uh, Cas, I’m pretty sure you’re not responsible for my virginity,” you said, attempting to keep your voice light despite how you felt.   “The culprit for that one is just, you know, my general face and personality.”  

He looked even more bewildered by this, taking a minute to digest every word.   He was flustered, like he didn’t know where to begin.  He finally spoke and looked you in the eye.   

“I am responsible because I should have given you an opportunity to be with other people,” he said.   “I never even thought to ask.   Now our spiritual vows have been sealed and you’re bound to this, to _me_.”  He turned away again, growing more irate with himself.   You felt a bit better when you realized what bothered him.  It wasn’t the fact you were a virgin on its own; he simply thought he wronged you by stealing you from your oh-so long line of suitors.   

“Cas, it’s okay,” you said, uncrossing your arms.   You stepped closer to him, the distance between you reduced to three feet.   You reached over and gently touched his arm, fleetingly.   “Trust me, I wasn’t going to be sleeping with anyone else anyway.   Face and personality, remember?”   It was a joke but he looked at you with utmost seriousness. 

“Why do you keep saying that?” he asked.  “You are a beautiful human, Y/N, both in terms of physical appearance and spiritual characteristics.”   

He said it so fervently, so sincerely.  Your eyes must have watered, though you didn’t really notice, because Castiel’s ire crumbled.   He looked crestfallen.

“I’ve upset you,” he said.  You blinked, the strain from your eyes gone as quickly as it came. 

“What?” you asked.  “No, you haven’t.   That was a nice thing to say.   I just…”  You stared at one another for a minute, neither daring to move or speak.   He seemed to study your face for a sign of distress or upset or _anything_.   You, on the other hand, actually felt _better_ now.   The compliments were nice, as was Castiel’s care for your wellbeing, but this moment was good for its honesty.   Until now, you and Castiel tread on eggshells around one another, everything a bit strained, tense, awkward.   That border slowly faded, the space between you smaller.  

You wet your lips, tongue swiping your bottom lip.  His eyes fell to the motion before resettling.   Your stomach was still coiled in warm, nervous knots, but you breathed easier and even managed a genuine smile as you stepped that little bit closer.  

“Maybe,” you said, grinding lace between your thumb and forefinger, “we should just… stop talking… until it’s… until we… you know…” 

“If you would prefer that,” he said gruffly, nodding in acquiescence.  “But… we’ll go slowly,” he verified.   You nodded, smiling.  

“Slowly,” you agreed.  “Sounds good.” 

There was an awkward moment where no one moved.  You just stared at each other, weighing the moment.   Your hands lifted and lowered in unison before silently agreeing upon a verdict.   You undressed yourselves, Castiel loosening his tie and pulling it over his head.   You wore a slip beneath your dress and, despite the fact you would eventually be naked, you pulled your arms into your clothes and removed the slip without taking off the dress.   It fell to the ground at your feet and you kicked it aside, pushing your arms back out.  

Castiel watched, seemingly charmed with the odd moment.   You barely noticed, blushing too hard and distracted with what came next.   Castiel pulled off his trenchcoat and suit jacket, stepping away to place them on your desk.   While his back was turned, you figured you would quickly remove your dress.  It would give you a second to compose yourself before he looked at you.  

Easier said than done.   The zipper was on your back and you twisted and turned, attempting to grab it.  Sam had zipped you up earlier, a casual affair especially with the slip for modesty.   This problem should have occurred to you then.   Thankfully, Castiel kept his back turned while kicking off his shoes and socks, so you had another minute to figure something out.   You attempted to grab the bottom of the skirt, hoisting it up around your waist.   No good.   You weren’t pulling this thing off without ripping it apart, if you even had that strength.

With an aggravated huff, the skirt fell back into place.  

“Cas,” you said, embarrassed and forlorn.  He turned around, fingers halfway through unbuttoning his shirt.   Trying not to look at the bit of exposed skin, eyes resolutely fixed on his curious face, you smiled weakly.   “Um, I need some help.” 

“With what?” he said, approaching.  He stopped right in front of you. 

“Can’t reach the back,” you said, turning around quickly.   You curved your hand over your shoulder and pointed down.   “If, uh, if you don’t mind.” 

“Of course not,” he said, speaking cordially.   You swallowed, wringing your hands as he stepped closer.  You weren’t sure that angels usually breathed but you supposed his vessel would overcome much of his wont right now—his warm breath ghosting across the back of your neck with his proximity.   You fought to stay still, offer no distinct reaction.   His hand landed on the curve of your shoulder, palm against your bicep, his other hand between your shoulder blades.   He dragged the zipper down, a  faint chill goosing your exposed skin.   You supposed it would be okay to shiver now. 

You were about to turn around and thank him when both his hands went to the middle of your back.   Before you could think twice, he had unhooked your bra.   You supposed that was your fault.   You told him you couldn’t reach the back so he probably assumed you meant everything, not just the dress.  

“Thank you,” you said, slowly turning around.  A flood of heat rushed below, his stare headier than you anticipated. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, and his already rough voice sounded huskier.   He took a step back, looking down at his shirt to undo the buttons.   You were distracted for a moment, watching as he drew the garment off his shoulders and pulled it down his arms.   You always knew Castiel was a sight for a sore eyes but you weren’t braced for all _that_.   Everything was tingling below your waist, your eyes roaming the strong, beautiful planes of his chest.   He gathered his dress shirt in his hands and crumpled it into a ball, tossing it onto the desk from where he stood.   He looked at you briefly, seemed to notice you hadn’t moved, but he did not comment.  His hands looked a bit shakier, reaching for his belt. 

If your silly self was so easily swayed by a bare chest, you probably shouldn’t have lowered your gaze.   He was half-hard already, a very slight tent against the front of his dark trousers.   A short breath escaped your nose, eyes watching calloused fingers against the belt.   You somehow managed to break your own trance, realizing he struggled.   You weren’t sure if he was out of touch with manually undressing or if he was nervous too.  It seemed odd, Castiel, Smouldering Angel of the Lord, being nervous to be with _you_.    He fumbled with the belt either way, the prong of the buckle jabbing his fingers.

“Here,” you said, not lifting your eyes, stepping closer.   “Let me.”  

It was almost a compulsion.   You slipped your hands past his, his fingers skimming your knuckles as he pulled back.   You unbuckled the belt and parted it, gently pushing the leather through the foremost loops on his pants.   You looked up at him then, his eyes already set on you.   Your hands lingered by his hips, moving only when his own returned.   He pulled the belt off, flattening the leather against his palm.  

“Thank you,” he said, then promptly walked away.   You blinked yourself back into reality.  Castiel returned to the desk to deposit his belt and you turned your back, pulling the dress down until it pooled at your feet.   Blushing already, you picked it up and draped it over a chair, removing your bra and laying it nearby.    You looked at Castiel over your shoulder, saw him watching you from the corner of his eye.   He was folding his pants, standing there in a pair of white boxers.  You both looked away from each other when your gazes met.   You heard his pants hit the desk and then the ruffle of more material. 

 _Oh god_ , you thought, hands frozen on your hips.   There was a naked Castiel standing somewhere behind you.   You weren’t sure you could breathe right.

“Y/N?” Castiel said.  By the sound of his voice, he was near the foot of the bed.  “Are you all right?  Are you having second thoughts?” 

“Um, no, fine,” you said, shaking your head.  That reminded you about your hair.   You wasted a moment, your back still turned, taking apart your updo.   Lock after lock tumbled free, the final elastic snapping in your nervous haste.   Only one thing left to do.  You took the plunge, breathed in deeply, breathed out again.   Then you pushed your underwear down your thighs, past your knees, and kicked them off.    You turned around and faced him before you could second guess yourself. 

You didn’t actually see his initial reaction, your own reaction at the forefront.   You looked him over, managing to feel both aroused and annoyed because _ugh_ he was built like a freaking _Adonis_.   You almost felt like covering your body but decided against it, mostly because you didn’t think you could move at the moment.   It was Castiel’s voice that summoned you, and you realized you had been staring right at his half-hard cock.   If you thought you were blushing before, you definitely were now. 

“We should perhaps…” he said, looking at the bed.   Breathing unevenly, you nodded.

“Yeah,” you squeaked.   “Right.  Of course.” 

You shuffled over to the bed, debating how to position yourself.   Castiel stood waiting, looking between you and the bed like he wasn’t sure which was more appropriate.   You eventually sat down, shoulders curving inward, your arms awkwardly crossing your chest now that you could think straight.   You laid back,  eyes directed to the ceiling, head slowly placed on your pillow.   You kept your knees bent, your hands on your chest, your breath laboured.  Your heart was positively hammering. 

“Human sexuality can be awkward,” Castiel said, your gaze moving to him.  He looked at you kindly.  “But I‘ve come to understand it is not necessary.   Do you trust me?” 

Your heart melted, easing the thunderous rhythm.   Of course you trusted Castiel—Castiel who saved you from death the very first time you met him, who delivered you safely to a new life, who might have been distant but never unkind, and who sought to be a gentleman when he could have bypassed your nerves and simply settled the affair.   You smiled, nodding.

“Yeah, Cas,” you said.  “I do.” 

“Then turn over.” 

All right – so you hadn’t been expecting _that_.    You watched him for a moment, confused.   He waited with perfect patience.   You eventually complied, supposing there was no reason to refuse, and you rolled onto your stomach, stretching your legs out.   His weight sunk onto the mattress beside you, his bare hip against yours.   You folded your hands beneath your chin and stared at the headboard, your muscles tensing all over again. 

“I’m going to touch you,” he said.  That voice really was too much.   You nodded your consent, expecting his hands to land anywhere but where they did.   Fingers curled over your shoulders, palms pressing your stiff muscles, gently kneading the stress from your body.   You bit your lower lip, eyes fluttering closed.   His hands were warm, palms a bit rough, grip strong.   His thumbs swept down your shoulder blades, pressing in, then he followed the curve of your spine.  You fell soft and pliant beneath his ministrations, remaining so even when he moved.  The warmth beside you vacated and then hands were on your thighs, parting them.   “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable.”  

You were only capable of a content “ _nghhh_ ” noise, your head nodding once.  Then he was settled between your legs and his hands were on your waist, continuing to massage the restless nerves.  You squirmed when his hands moved too low at your sides, tickling you.   He paused at your sudden reaction.  

“Sorry,” you giggled.  “Bit ticklish.”  

Cheeky bastard purposefully swiped his fingers there, earning more giggles.  

“Cas!” you exclaimed, looking at him over your shoulder.   He was smiling. 

“Apologies,” he said.  “I like your laughter.”  

This guy was gonna be the death of you. 

“I guess I forgive you,” you teased, facing forward again.   You wiggled your hips, settling in again, amazed with how comfortable you felt considering your vulnerable position.   

His hands left your sides and went to your lower back, massaging deftly until his thumbs swiped just above your rear.   You knew what view you afforded him this entire time, but you suddenly felt a little more naked knowing where his gaze had fallen.   But your nerves gave way to anticipation as you waited to see—or feel—what he would do.   He did not disappoint, drawing his hands a little lower to hold your hips, thumbs tracing small circles over your skin.   He waited for a protestation but met nothing, one hand sliding over the curve of your rear.  You shoved your mouth against a pillow, not wanting to make a noise for such a simple action. 

“You are very beautiful,” Castiel suddenly said, and all hope of composure went out the window.   You swallowed, lifting your head to glance back again.   He was on his knees, knelt between your legs, his hands on you and his gaze very low on your body.   His hand moved back up, thumb skimming the soft skin before tentatively settling at the crease of your ass.  He pressed down gently, drawing his thumb down the cleft.   Your hips lifted instinctively, your bare chest rubbing against the bedclothes, heat pooling below at the gradual build of sensation.   You swore you saw the moment his pupils dilated, watching your hips roll for him, hearing your breather stutter.   “I’m a fortunate husband,” he said, causing your stomach knot deliciously.  “Even if only for a night.” 

Castiel, the great seducer.  Who would have thought.  

“Cas,” you murmured, pressing your forehead to your shoulder.   You breathed unevenly.   “I—I—”   You knew all the graphic mechanics of sex, had sought your own pleasure from time to time.  You were a virgin, not a saint.   All the same, you found it hard to ask for what you wanted, not sure of the words.    But he understood your wanting phrases, hand sliding beneath you.   Then he was right where you needed.  Careful fingers parted your damp folds, middle finger finding your clit fast.  You allowed yourself a verbal reaction, a small mewl into the skin of your shoulder.   You turned your face down, forehead against a pillow while he rubbed two fingers back and forth.  

“This should make it easier,” Castiel said, words barely registering.   You rested your cheek against the pillow and closed your eyes, biting your lower lip when he eased a finger inside you.   “Is this… all right?”   He sounded legitimately unsure, drawing back his finger then inching it forward.   Your back had curved, ass lifted a bit obscenely to grant him space.   You just nodded, gripping the pillow beneath your head. 

“Yeah,” you breathed, “good.”

He added a second finger,  the most you had ever pressed into yourself.  But his fingers were thicker than yours, textured differently, and there was a faint stretch as he carefully worked them in and out.  It felt incredible, eased by how wet you already were.   He curled his fingers slightly, causing you to moan and shudder faintly.  You ground yourself onto his hand, moaning again as his fingers stretched deeper.   He made a sound behind you, his fingers moving a bit faster, then scissoring slightly.  His movements were hesitant but growing surer.   He obviously understood what he had to do even if the effectiveness was an uncertainty.   You most definitely proved he was correct. 

“I am privileged to be the one to see you like this,” he said, voice lower, breath running ragged.  You moaned again, canting your hips back.   He pulled his fingers down and carefully added a third, easing them back in.   Your grip on the pillow tightened, your head minutely turned, a breathy sound leaving your mouth before you bit your bottom lip.   His free hand reached for your face, suddenly and gently touching your lip.   You stopped biting it, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.  Your gaze could not hold, eyes closing the further his fingers went inside you.   He dragged his free hand down your shoulder, over your back, down your spine, settling on your ass and gently rubbing the flesh.    “Your body…” he said, sounding a little amazed, hand on your hip while the other worked a bit faster, harder, “feels…  right.  Good for this.”   He paused his action, leaving you panting, keen.  “It should be loved.  Often.”   You groaned, writhing until he pinned your hip down and slowly removed his fingers.   “On your back,” he said, wet fingers against your thigh, his other hand drawing your hair out of your face, smoothing it down.   “When you’re ready.”  

Oh god – oh god – this was it –

Arms shaky, you managed to push yourself up and turn over.  Your nipples had hardened, every nerve sensitive but no longer anxious.  Castiel stepped off the bed so you could manoeuvre yourself.  You flopped onto your back, hands at your sides, chest heaving and your sex aching for attention.   Castiel placed himself at your feet, fisting his cock and running lazy strokes back and forth.   He was as hard as you were wet, a bead of precum at the tip of his cock which he swiped, expression flittering with pleasure, drawing his hand back down his length.   Your legs were already slightly parted but you spread them further, urging him to move closer.    He did, hands falling on the outside of your thighs.  One gripped tight, lifting your hips, while the other reached up and snagged an unused pillow.   You weren’t sure what to do with your hands, placing them on your stomach, then at your sides, then tucking one beside your head. 

“Are you comfortable?” Castiel asked, securing the pillow beneath your hips.   You could hardly mind such matters with his cock brushing the inside of your thigh, your need for him launching you past lingering shyness. 

“Yeah,” you said, nodding vehemently, “definitely.” 

“Tell me if I…”  He frowned, clearly imaging the prospect of hurting you.   “My grace should make it easier.”   He placed a hand on either thigh, holding you open.  You shivered, fisting a hand in your own hair, the other in the bedsheets, while looking at him.   He looked down at where he held you, his chest visibly rising and falling with breath now.   His body had almost completely overcome him but you could see him fighting to restrain himself.   Then his fingers were at your sex again, a hand on his cock, and then the head was nudging at your entrance and your breath caught.   He pressed forward, gentle as he could without prolonging the moment to pain.   Your held breath collapsed and you started breathing hard, knuckles whitening where they clutched the bedsheet.   Castiel looked at you, cupped your jaw and caressed the side of your face.   Your eyes closed, leaning into his touch as he moved inside you, inch by solid inch.   Your knees bent at his hips, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip, breath escaping through your nose.   You could feel the faint stretch and burn, but it was not as painful as you thought it might have been.   Whether that was your body alone or Castiel’s grace, somehow healing whatever damage caused, you were not sure.   All you knew was that by the time your bodies touched, Castiel buried completely inside you, it felt _right_.   

“Ah, Cas—” you wheezed, hands grabbing his shoulders.   He curled one hand into your hair, holding tight, his expression heated and blissful at once. 

“You feel—” he began, his other hand below your thigh, drawing it against his hip.  You moaned, head tipping back, his grip on your hair tightening.   He seemed to think better of whatever he meant to say, face falling to the juncture between your shoulder and neck, warm breath swiping your skin.   “This constitutes as consummation,” he rasped, clearly fighting very hard to hold still.   His lips moved against your skin as he spoke, your nails lightly scratching his shoulders.   He might have been able to hold still but you were aching for something, feeling whole and full and needy for more.   “We can… stop here.  If you prefer,” he finished.  

In a bold move you would never regret, you hooked your other leg around him. 

“I didn’t take off all my clothes for that,” you teased, feeling him laugh lightly against your skin.   He lifted his head, looked down at you, shifting his hips slightly.   The marginal movement caused you to hold him tighter, lips parting in a soundless reaction.  

“Then it’s my responsibility to make your sacrifices meaningful,” he said, and then his hips drew back slightly before pushing forward again.   You groaned, grappling at him like he was an anchor to your boat in a storm.   His fingers wrapped in your hair, pressing into your scalp, his face staring down into yours as he moved inside you, a gradual, slow rhythm.   Your breathing fell into measure with him, your fingers pressing hard enough into his shoulders to bruise. 

“The marriage is a good thing,” you found some words to say, and if Castiel wasn’t currently rocking you into a tempest of heat, you might have been embarrassed at your own confession.    “After tonight, I don’t think I could have anyone else inside me.”   His moan turned into something of a growl, hips beginning to thrust with a little more verve, mouth dropping to your shoulder.    You tightened your legs around him, your next sound louder than necessary, falling into more delirious phrases.   “You feel so good there,” you gasped, throwing your head back.  “Better than anything or anyone.  All… all a wife could ask for...” 

He sucked a kiss on your shoulder, teeth scraping your skin and tongue dabbing the spot.  It was probably the weirdest and most mild kink to have, but he was clearly enraptured with the marital titles. 

“A husband should care for his wife,” he rumbled, shifting so you balanced better on the pillow and he could drive further into you.   You gasped, raking your nails down his back.  “Especially when she takes him so well.”  

“ _Oh_ , Cas—”

“I need to see you now,” he said, kissing below your ear and then lifting his face over yours.   “Y/N, give me your hand.”   One of his hands was wrapped around your hip but he held the other up, near your head.    Your hands were still gripping his shoulders, not wanting to let go as he rode you with such unrelenting passion.   But you did as he asked, crashing your hand into his.   He clutched it, kissing your palm before drawing it close.   He slowed inside you, breathing hard, eyes on your wrist.   “I must expose the brink of your prophetic elements,” he said, like that meant anything to you.   You rolled your hips beneath him, causing his eyes to flutter closed for a moment.   He pressed down on top of you, fingers clamping around your wrist.   “Please,” he said.  “Once this is consummated according to heaven’s second will, I promise,” he kissed your wrist, teeth gentle against the soft skin, “I promise,” he repeated, eyes dark, “I will fuck you into the bed you lay on.”

“Cas,” you breathed, “since when do you say things like that?”  It was meant to be a thought more than legitimate question but he just smiled, the sort of smile you only saw in moments of grave consequence and confrontation, intense and steadfast. 

“I’ve been on earth some time,” he said.  “And inside you long enough to know what you want.” 

“Well, fuck,” you smiled gently, “get on with it then.”  

He held your wrist in his hand, fingernails gentle against the skin.   He drew them a few inches down to the middle of your arm, then held steady.   He looked at you with more seriousness. 

“This is likely to hurt,” he said.  “Are you prepared?”  

You nodded, braced.   You weren’t sure what to expect when his nails suddenly punctured your lower arm.   Bewildered, you watched as the broken skin did not emit blood but light.   Golden and warm and simmering hot like burn marks where he scratched.   You stared down, mouth agape.   Then Castiel was lifting your arm to his face and you swore your heart leapt into your throat, pain momentarily forgotten as he opened his mouth and gently lowered his lips to the bleeding light.  It was a soothing sensation, mouth soft and damp against the searing heat of bright gold, lips deftly pressing around the skin.  You shuddered, a full tremor shaking your spine when his tongue stroked the skin.   Every sweet spot seemed to sing at once, his mouth against some intimate, noncorporeal aspect of your humanity.    Then he returned your arm, lacing your fingers with his. 

“You must do the same,” he said.  You had no idea how, not too sure what he had done.   You went to voice this concern but he shook his head, gently rocking his hips into yours.  Your worries tumbled from mind.   “It will work,” he said.  “I trust you as well, Y/N.”   

Breathless, you unlaced your fingers and lowered them to his arm, resting against the skin before dragging your nails as he had done.   The ritual did _something_ because you thought nothing substantial to enact it.   All the same,  his light bled in a bluish colour, blaring through the cracked skin of the vessel.  

“It must be inside you,” he said, eyes glowing a brighter blue than normal.  “It binds your soul to me.”

“Forever,” you whispered, bringing his arm to your mouth. 

“Yes,” he said, watching with those inhumanly blue eyes.   “Eternity.”  As he had done, you closed your mouth over the light.  You felt nothing at first, just his skin beneath your lips, so you followed his example and swiped your tongue.   A warm sensation immediately flooded you, seeming to run along every vein, muscle, bone, and sinew.  Castiel made a low noise, a barely stifled grunt.  Then he pulled his arm back and grabbed your hand, pressing your arms together so gold and blue blistered into a hot white together.   You cried out, immense amounts of pleasure flooding every last pore and nerve, almost too much to bear.  It faded and when you looked into his face, for a moment you thought you saw many faces—beautiful and bright and warm and gazing at you from a hundred vantages.   Blinking and breathing, you fell back into the human moment, your arms healed and Castiel panting.

Then he was moving inside you again, making good on his promise to fuck you into the bed.   Castiel moved onto his knees and grabbed your hips, lifting you right up against him as he thrust down.   The pillow helped somewhat though your back still curved.  Honestly, that celestial action had felt similar to an orgasm and it slightly wore at you, even while your body begged for more.   You couldn’t believe you had ever worried about this moment.   Now you were only worried it would never happen again.  

But that thought fell from mind as Castiel’s expression slowly changed, features tight, his hips snapping erratically.  You clenched around him, watched that beautiful expression fall apart as he slumped forward, thrusting a few more times as he came inside you.    

After it ended, both of you lay there for a moment, Castiel softening inside you, your gaze blurry, breath hard.   The celestial interlude had clearly affected you both.   You never thought you could feel so fucked out without even technically coming (at least the human way).   But you were exhausted, more tired by the second.   Castiel regained his strength first, though perhaps only marginally, lifting himself off of you and moving aside.    You hummed contently, pressing yourself into your bed as he rearranged the pillows and tossed aside the one beneath you.   He sat behind you, leaning against the headboard, and you rolled over and peered up.  

“Are you leaving?” you asked.   He lay down, his arm circling your shoulders and drawing you against him.   You rested your head on his chest, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Not if you wish for me to stay,” he said.

“I do,” you replied, yawning thereafter.   Sleepily, you nodded again.   “I do.” 

He smiled against the top of your head, kissing your crown.   His hand smoothed down your hair and settled on your shoulder, holding you close.  

“I do too,” he said.  

 

 

 


	2. Satisfaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: a creepy guy at a bar makes unsolicited and unwanted advances on the reader. it's ended before it's taken too far.

You awoke in a few short hours, your bedroom dark.   With a foggy cognizance, you sort of recalled falling asleep with the lights on, though your sleepy mind wasn’t sure why.   It was dark now either way, encasing you in a dreamland even as your eyes peeled open and your bleary gaze fell to the bedside.   Your clock was perched on the edge of your night-table, the hour blaring in bright red — 4:35 AM.    You were laying on your stomach, your hair splayed around you, falling into your face and mouth.   Groaning sleepily, you pushed yourself off your stomach, rolling onto your side. 

It was then something stirred behind you, a hand touching your back as you moved.   You looked over your shoulder, eyes barely open, frowning in sleepy confusion.   A gentle hand reached out and drew back the hair stuck to your lips, gathering it over your bare shoulder.   With that thought, you shifted a bit beneath your blankets, realizing you were totally naked.   You made a groggy, groaning sound, that gentle hand sweeping down your spine and causing you to tremor delightfully. 

“Cas,” you murmured, the name which often fell from your lips when you dreamed such dreams.   For a moment, that’s what you thought this was, your half-asleep mind misremembering your own circumstance.   A warm body turned behind yours, curving almost perfectly around you, chest against your back, a hand on your hip, legs tucked behind yours.   You curled your ankle between his legs, hooking it around his own.   The hand on your hip slipped over you, fingers on your stomach stroking soft, tentative patterns.   You hummed contently, head tipping back. 

“Y/N,” that familiar voice rumbled your name, rough, deep, amorous and desirous—better formed than your usual dreams. 

“Castiel,” you returned, yawning a bit.   You lifted a hand over your shoulder, seeking to feel a face in the shadows.   You were successful, fingers raking over a stubbled chin, rough cheeks, then smooth if not messy hair. 

“Y/N,” that beautiful voice spoke again, low at your ear, “you should sleep.   It’s still very early.” 

You just sort of grunted, sleep a useless thing with that naked body curved magnificently around your own. 

“Please,” you gasped, pressing your hips back, twisting a bit.   You could feel an interested cock pressing at the crease of your ass, the soft fingers on your stomach scraping across your skin, holding your hip tightly.   “Are you gonna make love to me?”  you asked, still somewhat slurring, intoxicated with heat and lust and lingering sleep—and, you realized, an ache between your legs that was not sore but certainly  _different_.   Combined with the nerves which awoke before you, eager and keen to be touched, you could scarcely help but writhe against his body.   He made a low sound against your ear, and then a hand slid under you, both hands now gripping either hip, and you were turned over.  

“Y/N,” the voice was dark now, wanting.   In being relocated, you awoke a bit surer, blinking up.   The darkness began to give way, your eyes adjusting, and you could just make out the face looking down at you.    Castiel turned you all the way over so you were on your side, facing him.   The events of yesterday came rushing back all at once, ripping a gasp from your lips as his thumbs traced soothing circles on your hips.   Your heart began to beat faster, realization of reality, and you couldn’t even feel embarrassed for how bold you had been, your brazen request that he  _make love_  to you—no, no embarrassment, in fact, because he complied with that direct order.  

“ _Oh_ ,” you whispered, a lot of realizations and desires laden in that one syllable.  He made another low sound, gorgeous and full before leaning forward.   One hand curved under your thigh, drawing your leg over his hip.  You were whimpering with want before the head of his cock even nudged you, but then it was there and you could hardly breathe.   His hand clasped over your thigh, tips of his fingers against your rear, his other hand moving under your head to hold it. 

“It’s a difficult trial,” he said, voice gravelly, “lying beside you like this… and remaining still so long.”  Your hand slipped between your bodies, though you barely recognized the thought to send it there, and you took hold of his cock to guide it inside you.   He groaned, head tipping forward, mouth finding the base of your throat.  His hair tickled under your chin, his lips wet and warm.  Your hand moved onto his chest once he was half-inside you, thrusting the rest of the way, drawing your hips close.   You locked both hands onto his shoulders, almost clasping his neck.  

“You’re an angel,” you rasped, his words having faintly registered, “I figured you could last in one place for a good hundred years.”   He laughed a bit, soft against your collarbone, meanwhile thrusting into you at a steady pace that made it so hard to stay coherent.  

“Possibly, without my body,” he said, “and only without yours.”  

 _Ugh_ , smooth as fuck all.   It was hardly even fair.   He surely had to be bad at  _something_  but it did not prove so.   Castiel was clearly well-researched in all manner of decadent human charms, his teeth now teasing at your throat, tongue swiping each little mark.  For a moment, you almost thought you were in a dream again, but his next bite was sharper and you could not mistake actuality.   You cried out, shoving a hand into his hair, fingers wound tight in his dark locks.   You had clenched around him, entire body convulsing in surprise, and he moaned and simply sunk his teeth in your flesh again, this time between your neck and shoulder.   Your next sound was a scraping sigh, both hands in his hair, holding him tight against you.   Your leg was hooked high around his waist, his thrusts a bit faster, a bit harder. 

“You could have gotten dressed,” you eventually found your voice, buried somewhere underneath helpless panting, “or you could have dressed me.” 

“No,” he said, practically growling the word.   He sucked a kiss over where he bit, hard as he slammed you down onto him.   You threw your head back, mouth open in a wordless cry.   “I prefer you like this, without the distraction of human clothes,” he said, hand sliding over your hip, up your side, and cupping your breast.   You tightened your leg’s hold around his waist, your other leg twisted beneath his, ankles locked together.   “Your body is so beautiful,” he said, like it almost pained him.   He kneaded your breast, thumb swiping over your nipple and causing your breath to stutter.   “Seeing it covered would be… insufferable.” 

“Well, that is something,” you said with a smile, pulling lightly at his hair.  He lifted his head, looking at you while his hand slid down to grip your ass, the other following.  He led your movements as his own hips began to pitch unevenly.   “I’m sure it’s a crying shame you are the only one who will ever get to see it then,” you said, his moans at your jaw as his breath raced along your skin, “and the only one I want to see it.”   He came with that final breath, filling you and holding your hips against his.  You clung to him, eyes closed, panting just as laboriously.   

When he had finished, he rolled you onto your back, a place you happily fell to, breathing hard with a faint sweat broken across your skin.   Castiel kissed your shoulder, once, twice, thrice, then lifted your arm and kissed just above your elbow, then the back of your hand.   You just smiled, turning your hand to touch the side of his face.  

“Are you… unsatisfied?” he asked, looking down meaningfully.   You knew exactly what he meant and it was true, you hadn’t properly reached any height yourself.   It was hardly constituted in the clause of consummation—but then again, no one said there was a necessity for a second romp before dawn.   But you were honestly exhausted all over, your body much more awake than your mind.  You pictured yourself falling asleep to Cas trying to get you off, and it was both amusing and frustrating.   Eyes already blinking closed, you doubted you would make it, hand slipping from his face and dropping between you.   

“Sleep,” he said, clearly reading your body.   You felt him reach down for the blankets that had been kicked away, and soon you were wrapped tightly in their downy warmth, his arm strewn over your waist.   “I’ll watch over you,” he said.  

You fell asleep, tingling all over, chest flooded with warmth, and wishing it would never end.

* * *

 

When you next awoke, a light was on and your well rested bones told you it was a reasonable hour.   You lay on your back, the blankets half-off, one bare leg almost hanging off the bed.   For another brief moment, your waking mind forgot everything that happened.  It all returned when you shifted, that feeling between your legs substantial.   You were quite certain his grace had removed whatever pain might have occurred.  Nothing below your waist necessarily hurt though you did feel  _something_.   But that might have been in your head.   Either way, it brought a sleepy smile to your face.   Eyes still closed, you thoughtlessly stretched your arms above your head, blankets slipping further down your chest.   They barely covered you and one leg was still exposed. 

Then you heard the ruffle of fabric beside you and remembered,  _of course_ , that Castiel was nearby.   You opened your eyes and looked over, saw him standing beside the bed, almost fully dressed.   He was shrugging his trenchcoat on and looking down at you.   You stared back at him, saw he was breathing, a notable action for an angel, and his gaze was darker than usual.   But his roaming eyes lifted to your face and his expression fell stern, though not unkind, as he nodded. 

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, adjusting the collar of the coat.  You nodded, clutching the bedsheets tight. 

“Yeah,” you said, suddenly very shy and awkward, your voice completely caught.   You blushed all over again, a bit of a delayed reaction.   You recalled all the things you had said the night before.   Now you were completely naked under his stare of undoubted scrutiny.   You pulled your leg back under the covers, hiked the blankets up high around you.   It seemed to draw Castiel from whatever lingering trance kept him spellbound.   He cleared his throat, glanced aside for a moment.  

“I plan to tell Dean and Sam the marriage was consummated,” he said, then looked at you.  “They should probably know.”

“Of course,” you said.  If any jokes were made, it would be in good humour, an attempt to lighten the circumstance, but you were grateful that Castiel would tell them alone because you didn’t want to be there for that.   You were embarrassed enough as it was.   And you weren’t too sure what came next, not after all that, but this morning almost felt like it hadn’t really happened, though it also felt like it irrevocably had.   And Castiel was difficult to read, though he clearly thought something.   His deliberations were personal, however.   Maybe even beyond your comprehension. 

 _Ancient celestial being_ , you told yourself, not willing to let yourself hope even if he loitered another moment.    You recalled the things he had said to you but you could not reconcile them with this moment.   If you were embarrassed by the things you said—things you would  _never_  have the courage to say if not wrapped in the throes of passion—then perhaps he felt similarly.  Perhaps those words had tumbled thoughtlessly, void of meaning, empty praises.   You wanted to believe differently but you weren’t sure.    _I won’t occupy your space or bed after that night,_ Castiel had told you days ago when this proposition was first made.    You knew what this marriage entailed when you swore yourself to it.   This was a marriage of convenience, you reminded yourself, smiling weakly at him.  You couldn’t fall for pretty words delivered in sexual moments, nor even think too deeply on the fact you had each other twice.   You just maintained your smile resiliently as you could. 

“I just, um, just need to get dressed,” you said. 

“Of course,” he replied.   Castiel didn’t usually bid any adieu when departing, usually appearing and disappearing at whim.   But he looked at you directly, nodded curtly.   “Good morning.”   Good morning was more a greeting than farewell but you didn’t correct him.   He probably knew and simply used it for the sake of saying something.  

“Good morning,” you returned gently, and then he was gone. 

You lay there for another moment, quiet, alone, listening to your own breath, feeling the thrum of your own body.   You eventually sat up, rubbing your thighs because there was a faint tension yet lingering there.    You slipped out of bed, wrapped a bedsheet around yourself as you ambled over to your personal bathroom.   Only a few of the bunker rooms had their own ensuite.   The boys kindly gave you one, figuring you would want your privacy.   You were especially thankful for it now, wanting to shower but not wanting to leave your room.  

You dropped the sheet once you were in the bathroom, looked at yourself in the mirror.   Your hair was absolutely everywhere.   You ran your fingers over your neck and shoulders, noted there was not a single mark on your skin.   He must have healed every last potential hickey.   It was almost disheartening though you knew he did out of consideration for you, assuming no sensible human would want little welts on their skin.   It was fair enough.  You supposed it would be strange to keep them anyway, especially as it ultimately signified nothing.  

You sighed but you had endured tougher storms than this.   You climbed into the shower and washed yesterday from your skin.  

Technically, you had lost nothing.  You were right back to yesterday morning, the same person you had always been.   Except now you could probably make grocery runs and walk in the park without someone trying to kidnap you for the wayward forces of heaven. 

Showered, dressed, mostly composed, your stomach called you to action.   You left your room, pattered down the halls in hopes you wouldn’t draw attention to yourself. 

No such luck.  Sam and Dean were already in the kitchen when you got there.

“There she is!”  Dean called.  “Lady of the hour.  Missed breakfast, Mrs. Cas, but Sam made it so can’t say you missed much.”   Sam rolled his eyes, looked at you kindly.  

“Hi, Y/N,” he said.   You smiled, hopping up onto a stool across from him. 

“Hey,” you replied, then looked over his head.  “What’cha makin’ over there, Dean?”  you asked, palming your chin and hoping your behaviour was casual.   You suspected an hour with the Winchesters would return you to your usual spirits, either because they made you laugh or annoyed you into oblivion.   You would take either at this point.

Naturally, it turned out to be the latter with a pinch of the former.   For grown men, they really could be a couple of brats, but your heart was soft for those idiots.  They intended to check into some cases tomorrow or the day after, having used today to nurse their hangovers and recuperate.   You put them to work in the afternoon, Dean folding laundry and Sam doing dishes while you cleaned your room.    You and Dean went out to get burgers for dinner, though you purposefully waited in the car while he went inside and ordered—just because you could.

You giggled, sitting in the car by yourself.  You probably looked like a weirdo to anyone passing by but you hardly cared.   For a few good hours, Castiel and your marriage was a back-burner thought.   The pleasant outcome was all that mattered.  

Somewhere between finishing dinner and arguing over who would do the dishes, bets and teasing arguments were put forth.   Soon you and Sam were racing each other down the bunker corridor, Dean waiting in the library to call the winner.   Sam would win with flying colours, hence why you got a fifty pace head start.   He still beat you, in the end, barrelling into the library before you stumbled in afterward.  

“That is not fair,” you wheezed dramatically.  “I’m wearing a dress.  And no shoes.”

“Hey, we didn’t pick the uniform,” Dean replied, gesturing to you.   “Don’t blame us for your mistakes.”   You stuck out your tongue and Sam laughed, picking you up from behind and hugging you. 

“Good race, Y/N,” he said, ruffling your hair.   You weren’t paying him any attention, though, because Dean stepped aside and revealed a space behind him.   Standing on the opposite side of the table was Castiel, quiet and contemplative.   Your heart felt like a rock, rattling around in your chest as Sam put you back down.  

“What are you doing here?” you blurted out thoughtlessly.   Castiel looked momentarily affronted but it passed.   He circled the table to join where the three of you stood.

“Dean invited me,” he answered.  “He said we were celebrating.” 

“Celebrating?” you asked, looking at Dean. 

“Your freedom,” Dean spoke like it was obvious, patting your back.  “There’s a bar a couple miles out.   We’re driving.   Cas,” he snapped his fingers in Castiel’s direction, “you’re coming along for the ride.  No ifs, ands, or buts.”    Castiel said nothing, looked at you a moment longer before regarding Dean with all the pleasant nonchalance he had. 

“Fine,” he said.  “When are we leaving?” 

* * *

 

This was the opposite of your desires.   You had hoped this marriage would improve your relationship with Castiel.   Sure, maybe not in the way you wanted, but it could spark a closer friendship.  

You and Castiel sat in the back seat of the Impala, not even looking at one another.   You still exchanged the odd smile—there was no reason to suddenly be rude or cruel to one another—but if things were strained before, that tension had easily tripled.  You felt like every glance said too much or not enough, and you were thankful for the usual Winchester chatter to keep everything smooth.  

There was kindness, of course.  Always such kindness.   Castiel held open your car door and helped you out, offering a hand.  You wanted to groan, palms sliding together, recalling where that hand had roamed the night before, suddenly feeling like you needed it again.   You did not dare look at him, terrified of revealing your thoughts, more terrified of seeing they were not reciprocated.    You pulled your hand out of his quickly and rushed ahead, walking alongside Dean while Cas closed the door.   Sam circled the car and they followed behind you.   Dean slung a friendly arm over your shoulder, looked at you with seriousness as you entered the bar. 

“You doin’ okay?” he asked.  “’cause this is your shindig, sister.  I’ll supervise you while you down a truckload of your personal poison.”   You smiled, nudging your head against his shoulder.

“Don’t sweat it, Dean,” you replied, touched he would offer to sacrifice his own night out.   This might have been your first real night of freedom but the Winchesters rarely got days off.    “I can watch out for myself.   We wouldn’t be celebrating my freedom if you weren’t drunk off your ass.” 

“Yeah, let’s get that in writing when you have to carry me back,” he teased.   You laughed, letting him lead you through the door. 

The bar was an agreeable hangout.  It was a laid-back dig strewn with booths and tables, a small area either intended for dancing or one that inevitably turned to dancing thanks to some drunk patrons.   Either way, a jukebox was blaring some nondescript rock song, some head-bangers swinging themselves around in the corner.   You and the boys settled into a round booth, you and Sam in the middle with Cas and Dean on opposite ends.   Dean went off to get the first round of drinks, returning with beers.   You barely drank it, though you did watch Dean make a pass at some lady. 

About an hour later, Dean was schmoozing up to said lady.  Castiel was sitting bored in your booth, talking with you and Sam when you were there, looking around aimlessly when you were not.  You and Sam had ventured to the bar for more drinks.    You sat upon a bar stool, Sam leaning beside you, chatting.   You looked at Dean and the girl, shaking your head in wonder.     _How does that even happen?_  Hot guys never just waltzed up to you and chatted away.   Sure, Sam probably classified as a hot guy and he was chatting with you, but Sam and Dean were  _Sam and Dean_.   They didn’t count because of reasons involving their dirty underwear.  

“I’ll be right back,” Sam said, needing the restroom.   You waved him off, sitting at the bar by yourself and waiting for the drinks you ordered.  

And then, as if the universe had heard your musings and sought retaliation, the guy beside you swivelled around and shot you a toothy grin.  

“Hey,” he said.   He was not unattractive but you were immediately uncomfortable.   No guarantee if it was a culmination of everything that happened today or if he was just creepy.   Either way, you just smiled weakly, your nature prohibiting much else. 

“Hi,” you said, then made a point of turning away.  

“Hey,” the guy said again, hand landing on the back of your chair, stool built with a small brace to lean on.   You immediately leaned forward, not wanting his hand anywhere near you.   He turned your stool towards him, though, more or less locking you in that position.   “That guy seemed like he was boring you.   Let me buy you a drink.   I can liven things up.”   

“I’m here with people.  Thank you, though,” you said, attempting to turn your stool around.  It didn’t work against his stronger hold.   Your stomach knotted.   You wished you were better at handling these circumstances but they so rarely arose.   You physically squared your body away, facing the counter and feigning indifference. 

“Really?” the guy asked, looking around theatrically.  “’cause you look pretty alone to me, girly.” 

“I’m married,” you finally snapped.  And oh, what a beautiful sound it was.  It was pathetic you had to resort to such a proclamation but at least you could.   Unfortunately, the man just cocked an eyebrow and looked at your hands.

“I don’t see a ring,” he replied.   You looked at your hand as if you expected to uncover a new truth.  Of course you didn’t have a ring.   There was no exchange of rings in weird ancient rituals that bound angels and prophets while a cupid recited flowery Enochian.   Huffing, you tossed your gaze over your shoulder and looked at where Castiel was sitting.  

Castiel stared at you, clearly gauging your response to the present situation.   He was tense, expression reading like he was fully prepared to intervene.   Such dark glances were usually reserved for fatal confrontations, you knew.   It was reassuring to see but Castiel tempered himself.   You remembered his worries last night, that he had drawn you away from potential happiness with other men.   He would not intervene if you did not want him to—maybe you liked the attention, the flirting.   He knew you were smart and would not allow it progress further, but there was no reason you could not accept a flirtatious eye and compliment.   He respected your potential wishes and sat still, even if it painted a tense line across his shoulders. 

You quickly proved his concern was rightly delivered.   You mouthed the words  _help me_  and he was on his feet in a second. 

“Just give me a chance, doll,” the guy continued, fingers strumming the back of your chair.  “You don’t need to make up husbands.   Just open up a little, yeah?  Couldn’t hurt to play nice.”  

You were facing forward, eyes centred on the ring of glasses behind the bar.   Out of the corner of your eye you saw the guy suddenly reel.   Castiel must have thrown his hand off the back of your chair, toppling his balance.   You quickly climbed down from the stool, saw the flutter of a beige trenchcoat before he stepped behind you.   Nodding contently, you expected Castiel to escort you back to the booth.   Instead, his hands circled your waist from behind, and suddenly his mouth was on that sensitive bridge between your shoulder and neck, the very same place he had marked with vigour earlier that morning.   You froze, a swell of warmth spiralling from your core outward.   You looked at him over your shoulder, saw him staring down at you with an intense gleam, blue eyes sweeping your face. 

“Dude,” the other guy protested, gesturing to you like he could salvage anything.   Castiel pulled you tight against him, sliding an arm around your waist as he stepped towards the guy.   The stranger leaned back.   A sleazy bar dude held little competition for a celestial force, whether he knew it or not. 

“Your degradation of humanity is not worth the time it would take to dismantle you,” Castiel said.  He might have been speaking to the devil, himself, with such severity in his tone.   You shivered, noted a similar reaction in the startled man.  “But if you think to lay a hand on my wife again, boy, I will personally be the one to tear it off.”  

Without further ado, Castiel walked away with you tucked against his side.  

“Where are we going?” you asked, noticing Castiel made for the door.  

“Outside,” he said.  “We need to speak, Y/N.”   Until that moment, you weren’t sure you could be undone by four words.     _We need to speak_  did a decent job, though. 

“What about Sam and Dean?” you asked.  “They don’t know we’re leaving.”  Just as you passed the table where Dean sat, Castiel reached out and basically smacked the back of his head.  Dean leaned forward, looked at you strangely as you passed.

“Now he knows we’re going and where,” Castiel said, moving swiftly towards the exit. 

“Did you just—”

“Plant the information in his head, yes,” Castiel replied.   Everything about him was very no-nonsense at the moment.   You would be lying if you did not admit it was kinda hot, though you stifled those thoughts pretty quickly as you broke into the cool air.  Once outside, Castiel’s ire seemed to dissolve.   He released you and you wandered a few paces, Castiel turning about like he wasn’t sure where to go.   He still grimaced, a thought on his tongue, fingers curling and unfurling.   You watched him for a minute and then he looked at you, seemed to sigh inwardly.

“I apologize if that was forward,” he said.   You weren’t sure how but you just  _knew_  that was not the thing he wanted to say.  His body was tense and you could see his breath cloud the night air, meaning he was still physically invested in whatever ran through his mind.   Whether it was irritation for the guy or something to do with you, you did not know.   Maybe it was both.   Either way, he quite visibly shoved everything down, the fortitude of an angel clearly overcoming momentary emotion. 

It was aggravating.  You wished your hostility was stronger, provocatively demanding answers from him.   Were you foolish to feel the things you did?  His actions inside  _were_  forward and probably unnecessary, though you happily accepted them, but why did he keep doing these things if he was going to revert to nothing again anyway?  He couldn’t act like he wanted you, like you were his and he could be yours, if that wasn’t what he wanted after all.  Your own frustration brewing beneath your skin, you crossed your arms and attempted to match his outward indifference.

“I want to go back to the bunker,” you said.   “Can you take me there or should I go get Sam and Dean?”

“I can take you,” he said, features crinkling with uncertainty. “You’re not in distress?” he asked.   You met his stare, certain yours betrayed more obvious wrath.   You kept your arms pressed tight across your chest.

“I just want to go back,” you said. 

“Of course,” he replied, stepping closer.  His hand reached out and landed on your shoulder.  The scene shifted before you could draw breath.   You were standing in your bedroom, the lights on, the bed made with clean sheets, everything the way you had left it.  Only now Castiel stood in front of you with a waiting glance, expecting you to send him away or invite him to stay.  You couldn’t torture yourself with more of this dithering but the thought of being alone was equally displeasing.  You stood at the foot of the bed, Castiel mere feet in front of you.  You were seemingly frozen in a memory.   You stood here just last night with equal tension and hesitation, waiting for the other to do something.   

“You’re upset,” he said.  You supposed you weren’t so good at feigning indifference, after all.  

“I’m fine,” you lied, finally walking away.   You went over to your desk, idly rearranging things.  

It did occur to you that most of these problems could be solved with simple communication… but the thought made your stomach turn.  You knew you could never speak your mind.   Not sensibly, at least.   You were a little scared that if he pushed you, everything would spill out in a big, ugly mess.   You tried to occupy your hands with idle chores, moving books from here to there.  

“You’re not,” Castiel insisted.  “Do you want to go back?”

“No, Cas,” you sighed, “I don’t want to go back to the bar.” 

“Was it me?” he asked.  “I apologize again for being so forward.”   How could he be such a brilliant, sage creature and such an  _idiot_  at once?   You weren’t sure if it was a blessing or curse, the fact he had mostly lost the ability to read human minds.  It was one of the few powers that waned in his pseudo-settlement on earth. 

You looked at him over your shoulder, a sarcastic glance before returning to your desk. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, tone heaped with bitterness.   

“Would you prefer I leave?” he asked.  “I can ask Sam or Dean to return.   Sam, maybe.  So you aren’t alone.” 

“I’m perfectly fine with being alone,” you said, much too syrupy to be genuine.   You could almost feel his gaze morph into an inquisitive squint.   “And I’m certain you have  _no problem_  leaving, so if you’re busy then go.”   Okay, that officially rang the passive-aggressive bell.   The gloves were coming off. 

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said, a voice that indicated he probably did but was hesitant to commit.   You glanced at him sparingly, his brow furrowed, jaw stiff.   “I’m upsetting you.  Why?”

“Just go, Cas.”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me, Y/N,” he said sternly.   You huffed, planting your hands on your desk.   You heard him sigh, the ruffle of fabric as he stepped towards you.  

“I’m upset… because you won’t leave,” you said, willing yourself to speak truthfully.   Still, you could not pluck the threads of courage.   Castiel stood beside you before long.   You took a step back, forcing space between you.   If he was in proximity, there was no promising  _what_  you would do.

“That isn’t true,” he said.  “Y/N, I don’t want to be the cause of your unhappiness.”   He sounded despondent, himself.   He rubbed the bridge of his nose, an unusually human action, and you looked at him as he took a step back.   “Is it because of this morning?” he asked, drawing the valour to look you in the eye.  “Because I am aware…  I asked the Winchesters their opinion and they claimed there should be no enmity between two consenting adult parties… but I suppose I am much older than you, when the situation is presented in exponential logic, and I never gave forewarning that we would be intimate twice.  Honestly, I did not anticipate it anymore than you.   But it can be construed as taking advantage and I—”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, his words strange.   You were recalling that awkward late morning, a stilted conversation ending in his departure.    It sounded like he was talking about… a little earlier than that. 

“When we ‘made love’,” he said, repeating your hazy words like they were a casual thing.   But  _no_ —you swore a faint blush had coloured his cheeks.   You had  _never_  seen the angel blush.   Honestly, it only lasted a second, but despite what his smooth voice otherwise indicated, you had made no mistake.   Your response was to blush as well, a much brighter colour and not so easily erased.  

“That… that was fine, Cas,” you said, heat in your cheeks running everywhere.   “You weren’t… taking advantage of me.  I came onto you and… and I wanted… you know…”   You waved the air, stalking off to hide your blush.   You crossed your arms, turning to leave him your profile.   “I was fine with it.”

“You did seem fine at the time,” he said, clearly reminiscing.  Heat seemed to touch you elsewhere and you cleared your throat, sucking in a breath.   “I don’t understand, then.  Why are you upset?” 

“Because you left!” you finally exclaimed, whirling to face him and throwing your arms out.   “Like… what was that?  I wake up once and it’s all great and schmoozy and then next time—?!   I was still naked and you were out the door like you thought I was going to turn into a monster and eat you whole.”   You paused for only a second, backtracking.  “Out the figurative door, at least.   You kinda just disappeared.”   

When silence fell, you remembered exactly why you did not want that confession.   He stared at you, something like mild alarm in his gaze, and you wished desperately for that power of disappearance.   You wanted to laugh or wave your hands— _forget I said anything!_ —but your reservations returned full force.  Your lips were sealed again, terrified to speak, words shoved back down the hollow bottle of repressed thought.   

And then Castiel looked almost cross, eyes glinting some thought in a pool of blue.   You stepped back only to find the wall was already behind you, the door a few paces to your left.   You couldn’t reach the handle from where you stood, not that escaping would do any good.   You could only get so far if he was determined to chew your ear off, right your silly fantasies, remind you of your place, recount the marriage clause and its basic necessities—

“Of course I left,” he began, voice scraping low, a sound that rolled through you despite everything.   Castiel took a step towards you, eyes fixed on yours.   “I promised to stay until morning.  Anything more and I would be trespassing on your personal space.”   He was still walking.   Your heart raced with each word he said, revealing a new thought, dashing the miserable ones in your mind.    “I assumed I had already overstepped my boundaries.  My only concern was finding the means to apologize, but it proved… very difficult… to find the appropriate words.  You seemed uncomfortable so I thought it best to simply leave.  I intended to speak with you when you were at ease.”   He stopped right in front of you, hem of his coat brushing your knee.   “And what you did constitutes as a ‘come on’?” he asked, seeming to legitimately wonder.  

You swallowed and nodded, eyes roaming his face, not so discreetly eying his mouth before flicking up to his gaze.   That glance which you misconstrued as frustration was something else, and you realized he was carefully weighing the moment so as to not misread a single glance. 

“May I propose a ‘come on’?” he asked, your lips parting and no sound escaping.   You nodded slowly, hand instinctively reaching towards him when he leaned closer.   You tipped your head forward, allowing him to lean towards your ear, speak in low tones even though you were alone.   “I thought my intentions were abundantly clear, more than what I deemed appropriate.   _Y/N_ ,” your name was little more than a groan, his arms suddenly around you, hands pressing into the wall behind you, “you had  _draped your unclothed form_  across the bed we shared.   The restraint I’ve easily preserved would have proved embarrassingly fragile with a glance.”  He paused and then asked, “may I touch you?”   You nodded, his hands moving onto your waist, all but pinning you to the wall.    He stepped closer and then you could feel him just as well as hear him, a definite hardness pressing above your sex.   You emitted a helpless little mewl, fingers clutching the edge of his coat.  “It was a strange contradiction, the knowledge you were my wife but not.   I didn’t feel I had any right to present myself to you a third time, to place that expectation on you if it made you uncomfortable.”   His lips traced the shell of your ear, soft in contrast to the tight grip around your waist.   “If I had known your inclinations, you would not have left that bed.”   

_Oh._

“Well,” you replied, a teasing sound in the faint breath.   You fell quickly into a hazy cloud of lust.  “You do sort of owe me.”  He leaned back at that, looking down at you curiously.   You laughed, a throaty sound.   He smiled but still looked perplexed, tipping his head.   You blushed again, tipping your head back so it hit the wall.   “Don’t make me say it.”  Even after everything, you doubted you had the words for:  _buddy, you totally fucked me twice and I didn’t come once, what’s up with that?_ You glanced at him and saw recognition cross his features.   That fleeting realization was soon replaced with something passionately resolute.  

Staring down at you, he stepped back.   You lamented the distance, your hands falling to your sides just as his left.   No complaint crossed your lips, however.   He shrugged the trenchcoat and suit jacket down his arms, both of them at once.   They landed on the ground where they were instantly forgotten, hand readministered to loosening his tie.  He pulled it off, absently dropped it beside him.  Then he was rolling up his sleeves and your heart almost stopped, mouth running dry as you watched him.   His eyes did not leave your face, fingers carefully folding his dress shirt at his elbows.   Your startled heart sprang back to life, pounding beats in quick succession.   He stepped towards you again, all at once sweeping you into his arms.   Yelping, you gripped his shoulders as he carried you over to the bed—appropriately, bridal-style.

“That is cause for frustration,” he said, placing you on the edge of the bed.   You sat still, your hands on his shoulders, head tipped back to stare up at him.   Although it was not the ideal vantage, Castiel having placed you on the side and not foot of the bed, you still expected him to lay you down and follow.   He remained on solid ground instead, moving onto one knee and then the other.   Oh— _oh_. 

“Cas, are you…”  There was no way you could finish that thought, but you had to know if he was seriously about to go down on you.   You had read enough erotica to piece together the end of this story, though its sudden demonstration almost made your heart burst. 

“Satisfying my wife,” was all he said, hiking up the skirt of your dress.   Swallowing hard, you helped, gathering it at your waist with a boldness still developing.   You blushed, naturally, but it lessened as your heated blood flowed much lower.   Castiel gently parted your knees, shifting forward to place himself between them.   His hand skimmed down your calf and only when he circled your foot did you remember you still wore shoes.   His hand locked around your ankle, holding you still while he leaned down and chastely kissed the inside of your knee.   You pressed your lips into a thin line, watching him lower his kiss to your calf.   He moved down your leg then pried the shoe off, tossing it aside and leaving your bare foot dangling.  

“Cas,” you murmured, one hand pressing into the bed while the other slid over his shoulder, moving up into his hair.  He shifted focus to your other leg, kissing your inner thigh before nipping the unsuspecting flesh. You emitted a strangled yelp, wet heat pooling between your thighs.  He dragged his tongue over where he bit, glancing up at you before running his hand down your leg.   He licked instead of kissing, fingers scratching the underside of your leg with each downward inch.   He kissed your heel after pulling the shoe off, letting your leg drop back down to hit the bedside.   You could feel the damp stripe he left on your skin, the skin he bit positively singing—which reminded you of something.    “Don’t fix me after,” you rasped, twirling some of his hair around your finger.    He looked up at you, licked his lips before speaking. 

“Fix you?” he asked.  “I don’t understand.”    You pat your neck with your free hand.  

“It should have left a mark when you…” you began, swallowing again.  “But they were gone when I woke up.” 

“You… prefer to keep them?” he asked, the idea clearly novel.   Whatever research he conducted in the universe of sex clearly left no details for the morning after.  

“Yeah,” you said, smiling to yourself.  You were fairly convinced you already knew how to wind him up.  “I like them,” you drawled, “I want people to see them so they know I’m taken care of.”   Sure enough, his hands which rested on your thighs suddenly tightened their hold, tips of his fingers gently pressing into the skin.   You smiled, looked down at him with a hooded stare, image of arousal no doubt amplified by the heat in your cheeks.  Maybe that blush was good for something after all.  “I want them to know I’m yours.”  

There it was—just the tick you aimed for.   Castiel looked up at you, hands sliding under your thighs and yanking you forward.   Both your hands fell behind you, instinctively looking to balance you.   He gave you little time to adjust, hands at your waist, pushing your dress higher so it was completely out of his way.   You barely managed to remain upright, soon flopping onto your back.  He dragged you right to the edge of the bed.   Before you could even look down, you felt his mouth move over you, an almost chaste kiss against your mound, contradictory to the intimacy of where he kissed.  Your breath ran a bit ragged, then he tongued down your slit through your underwear, pressing his face forward so his nose nudged you.  He moaned when you did, fingers sliding up your thigh, dipping under the waistband at your hip.  

“How are you so wet for me,” he grumbled against your sex, parting your legs further, “when I’ve barely touched you?”   You breathed much harder, following whatever direction he made.   

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you gasped, and it wasn’t a lie.   Hell, simply  _holding his hand_  when he helped you out of the car had almost sent you keening.   The honest remark left him gently groaning, lips teasing at your upper thigh.  Both hands settled on your hips, fingers hooking beneath your waistband and slowly lowering the material.   Perhaps it was to distract yourself from the realization of exposure, easing yourself into it, but you asked a question that had been on your mind for a while.   “Cas, seriously, when did you get so good at this stuff?” 

It seemed like an odd place to pause, your underwear halfway down your thighs, but there was a momentary recess as he looked up at you.   You pushed yourself onto your elbows, your updone hair falling apart, random chunks in shambles around you. 

“There is a vast collection of sexology accounts to study.   I found the majority on my own but both Sam and Dean offered input this past week.   Journals from Sam and pornography from Dean.”   You laughed at that, wondering if it was weird that you were laughing while your underwear was barely on.   Castiel stroked the inside of your thigh, fingers running along the material hooked there.   His gaze was likewise fixed but he then looked up at you.   That sight of him between your legs was one you could get used to.    “Their intervention was kind but unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary?” you asked, watching as his attention returned below.   He finished drawing your underwear down, pulling it over your knees and dropping it to your ankles.   

“Yes,” he said, “I had already conducted a fair deal of research by then.” 

“Had you?” you asked, lifting your foot while he threaded the underwear off.      

“Yes,” he said again, positioned straight on his knees, fingers skimming up your legs.   “I found my interest shortly after meeting you.  Though I stubbornly refused to connect the two occurrences.”  He kissed the inside of your knee, glanced up to read your shocked reaction to such an admission.   He smiled, twisting his tongue against that spot then turning his head.   He rubbed his rough, stubbled cheek against the skin, a sharp contrast of sensation.   “Though I confess, you are a much better canvas for study.” 

If that wasn’t revolutionary, you didn’t know what was.   Most thoughts fell apart when he stroked his thumb along you, turning his hand to slide his forefinger forward.   You kept balance on your elbows for a bit, staring down over your clothed chest, watching him slowly work you open. 

“Cas…”  You weren’t even sure what you intended to say.   It didn’t matter because he finally moved his mouth toward you, two fingers inside you by the time his tongue was sweeping your folds.   It was a different feeling, certainly not unpleasant, and looking down at him was an experience in itself.    He pulled his hand away from you only to hook a hand under either thigh, spreading you almost helplessly wide with his strong grip.  Your heavy breaths adopted a few high-pitched sounds as he thrust his tongue upward, slighting filling the ache now left there.   

“How many people have brought you to climax?” he suddenly asked, voice a bit hoarse, hand returning to rub two fingers mercilessly against your clit.   It took a moment to reply, a moan interrupting when he grabbed your knee and moved it onto his shoulder. 

“No one,” you finally answered, gasping.   “Just me.  When I said virgin, I meant it.”  Your elbows finally gave out and you flopped down, back arching when he abruptly stopped his fingers and returned his mouth there.   He seemed to purposefully bypass your clit, laving at almost every other sensitive nerve with patterns and motions that grew impossibly more skilled.   “And don’t apologize,” you grunted, remembering last night.   “I told you, I don’t care.”

“Just you,” was what he repeated,  looking up at you with bright blue eyes, his lips swollen a bit pink and already slick with you.   It took a second to remember he was an  _angel_  kneeling at your soaking heat, and if you weren’t a prophet you would have counted yourself as hell-bound for ruining him so.  “How often do you touch yourself?” he asked, drawing your other leg over his shoulder.   He shifted on his knees, finding better purchase, then he nipped at your thigh while sliding a hand between your legs again.   He teased you with no demonstration of pity, leaving you a mess who could scarcely writhe because he had locked you around him.   He had you right there, eager and wet and bare, and he did little more than circle your entrance, tease at your clit.    It was clear he would do nothing more without a reply so you fought for breath. 

“Sometimes,” you said.  

“Involving me?”

“Always,” you said, not an ounce of remorse.   He grunted, pleased, rewarded you by leaning down and licking hard across your clit, gently sucking the sensitive nub between his lips before releasing.  He swiped his tongue lower then lifted his face again.  

“Tell me,” he said.  If your heart was not already racing, it would be now.   It had been made quite clear by now that you basically sucked at dirty talk.   But one glance from those heady blue eyes and you panted, nodding. 

“I, uh,” dirty talk was hard enough as was, never mind concentrating while he lapped at you almost languorously.   “The—the first time—after you rescued me…” 

“Yes,” he said, an encouraging rumble against your heat, breath moving over you.   You shuddered, knuckles whitening in their grip on their blankets.   You never teased yourself to such a sensitive brink before, usually just getting off and calling it a day.   It felt like everything was on fire, tense and weak all at once.  

“I thought about—thank—thanking you,” you panted, his hand patting your cunt like he meant to soothe it, fingers bumping your clit but offering little stimulation.   You groaned.   “Fucking you,” you managed to say, eyes closing.  You attempted to thrust your hips down.  “Ugh, Castiel, I wanted you to fuck me the second we met.” 

“That would have been inappropriate,” he teased, opening his mouth against you.   Your thighs actually quivered in his hold, the kind of action you assumed was founded in romance novels alone.   You were a gasping, moaning cliché and didn’t care one bit.    “What else,” he asked, more of an expectation than question before he continued to ravish you – a hot, open-mouthed roam, tongue flicking where it willed.

“In the library,” you said, rocking your hips against him, “bent over the table.”   He moaned at that one, licking a stripe down your inner thigh before his fingers returned, gently pinching your clit.   Your hips lifted, a soundless exclamation on your lips, everything sensitive and throbbing.   “Car.  Kitchen.  Shower.  Here.   Anywhere as long as you’re inside me— _Castiel_ —!”    He worked his tongue inside you, rubbing back and forth before he finally moved his mouth where you desperately needed.   He thrust three fingers inside of you, your hips canting against them even as his mouth eased you differently, licking and swirling and sucking at your clit.   You wished you had removed your entire dress because you were burning hot all over, tugging at the fabric like it could alleviate tension.   A familiar coiling finally built, winding higher and higher in a way you weren’t completely familiar with.   You stopped moving your hips, every sensitive nerve screaming as a sound uncurled in your throat.   Castiel was relentless, however, and soon your head was thrown back as an audible cry ripped past your lips.   He did not stop until your breath was heaving and you could barely see straight.   Then he gently removed your legs from their perch, kissed down your thighs in a soft, loving manner.   You reached a hand down and pat his head, unable to do much else.

“Was that satisfying?” he asked, getting onto his feet.   You were aware that you had been left hanging off the bed like a ragdoll, skirt hiked up around your waist, but you just smiled at him.

“Yeah,” you murmured.  “Very nice.”   He smiled, bending over in what looked like a motion to kiss you before he thought better.   His lips were wet with you but he swept forward nonetheless, unexpectedly biting the juncture between your neck and shoulder.   He licked over it then stood back. 

“I will improve that one when I return,” he said, then stepped away.   You finally pushed yourself up, lowering your skirt.  

“Return?” you asked.  “Where are you going?”

“Dean has been praying in an inebriated state for ten minutes,” he said.  “Neither him or Sam are fit for driving and need assistance.”   You couldn’t help but pout, then crinkle your brow.

“You can still hear prayers?”  It was similar to mind-reading and you had not been sure.   You never really had cause to summon Castiel before. 

“Yes,” he replied.  “I can’t reply, unfortunately, but I can hear them.”

That was something to log away for later, no doubt. 

Then you went back to pouting

It was a reasonable departure as any but  _seriously_ , you finally got him alone and things were finally going well and he had to leave again.  Shrugging on his suit jacket, picking up his trenchcoat, he looked at you in fondness.    “I won’t be long,” he said.   He circled the bed and sat down beside you, swiping his thumb over where he had bitten.   “We aren’t finished,” he said, earning from a glowing smile from you.   You were still achy and sensitive from that last orgasm but you figured the small lapse of time would afford you a moment to fully mend.   You nodded to your husband, tipping your head so your cheek brushed his hand. 

Then he was gone and you were there, breathing raggedly and recounting the whirlwind of a day. 

It occurred to you as you stood up, pulling your dress over your head and tossing it aside, that you had never kissed your husband.   Kisses had been distributed in many places but you had not actually once touched your mouth to his.   Pulling off your bra and climbing under the bed covers, letting the rest of your hair down, you figured that was the first thing to fix when he returned.  


	3. Top to Bottom

The longer Castiel was gone, the more you second-guessed yourself.   Should you not have undressed?   Perhaps there was a greater eroticism to him undressing you.   But dressing in the midst of his reappearance would look undoubtedly preposterous.   You wondered if your hair looked better up or down, if it would be irritating pulled back or more bothersome loose.    Maybe you shouldn’t wait under the covers, but where else?   it didn’t matter if he had already seen you naked; you felt a bit strange standing around in the nude.    

In the end, you simply waited, laying beneath your bedsheets without a stitch of clothing.   Your recently pleased and now rested body hummed with anticipation, your bare skin against plain cotton suddenly the richest possible sensation.   Despite the nerves which always seemed to return, you smiled and shuffled further beneath the covers.   A hand strayed down your body, unable to help brushing your own skin.   A finger dipped between your thighs, and you bit your bottom lip as you drew it along yourself.   You were soaking wet after everything, finger now damp.   You wiped it along your thigh, shifted where you lay because you wanted more but also wanted to wait. 

You wondered if it would always be like this, for as long as this aspect of your bond continued.   Would your heart always beat off-time, expecting his presence?  Would you swallow this thickly and wet your lips in thought?   Was this the bliss of honeymooning or something more?  You had no idea.  

He had not been gone long but it felt like ages.   To occupy your roaming mind (and hands), you rolled over to rearrange the objects on your night-stand.   You idly adjusted your clock-radio, shoved around a couple books, the blankets wrapped around you as you leaned over your bed

You then heard the flutter of sound indicating Castiel’s arrival.   You looked over your shoulder, saw Cas standing at the foot of your bed.   He must have mojo’d his clothes to a state of propriety because it was in meticulous order, his tie redone and everything.   But his gaze was as desirous as ever, as if he had not left for a second.  

“Hi,” you said almost shyly, smiling nonetheless.   He smiled as well, head tipped. 

“Hello.” 

Not sure what to say or do next, you simply asked, “how are Sam and Dean?”

“They’re fine,” he said.   “They won’t be back for some time, however.”

Your blush was replaced with a smile, your bottom lip victim to another soft bite as you rolled over to face him.   You sat upright, knees pulled close to your body.   You held the blankets around you, continuing to quietly regard your husband—how strange and wonderful it was to say that –while his gaze swept low.  

“You removed your clothing,” he said, eyes flicking back to your face.    If that expression did not scream _purpose_ , you hardly knew what did.  

“Yeah,” you said, watching as he shrugged off his trenchcoat and suit jacket.   They hit the ground and your heart skipped a beat.   “I wanted to.”  

“It’s appreciated,” he said, quite teasingly.   His expression was more animated than you had ever seen. You laughed in spite of yourself.   You knew Castiel had a collection of silly phrases and expressions but you had never really seen them.   Cas smiled at your laughter, looked at the ground while unhooking his tie.   He really was a charming character.   How he could be so intense, so wild, so steadfast, so curious, so confident, so silly, and all of them equally, you had no idea, but you were beyond enamoured. 

“You were gone a while,” you said, twirling a bit of hair around your finger.   What constituted as seductive behaviour?   You had no idea how to be seductive, even when sex was unmistakably imminent.    Castiel missing a fair deal of social cues didn’t help matters.   He didn’t seem to recognize your comment as an _ooh-ooh-I-missed-your-body_ so much as a legitimate irritation.

“I apologize,” he said sincerely, accompanied with a small sigh.   He crumpled his tie and dropped it aside.    He looked at you kindly.   “Dean gets very talkative under the correct combination of drinks.”  

You really weren’t interested in discussing the Winchesters anymore.   Castiel stopped undressing, obviously concerned with the fact you had fallen under distress in his absence.   You swallowed a sigh, amused nonetheless, and stretched your legs in front of you.  The blankets lowered a bit, not much, your hand still locked at your chest.    Your free hand twirled that lock of hair a little more determinedly.

“I was lonely,” you said, blushing as you pushed your own voice to sultriness, irrevocably feeling its effects despite your embarrassment.    You bit your bottom lip again, rolled it under your teeth.   Castiel looked there and you saw him swallow, faint bob of his adam’s apple.   By his glance, you assumed he now understood your intentions.    “I wanted you here,” you said.   Your words fell easier as the air grew thick with promise, adrenaline taking over.   “And I really wanted you to kiss me.”  

“I’m here now,” Castiel said, hands moving to the buttons of his shirt.   You knew he could wave his clothes away but you appreciated the slow undressing, and you knew he did it for your benefit after your request last night.   It fanned the warmth in your chest while his physical action ignited heat elsewhere.    He unbuttoned his shirt without looking away from you, circling the bed until he was at your side.    The shirt fell open as he sat down.   He brushed some of your hair back.   You licked your lips instinctively, breath catching when his hand went to your shoulder.   His fingers splayed across your skin, sliding to cover your neck until he had a very soft grip, thumb circling the centre of your throat.   “We’ve never kissed,” he said matter-of-factly, eyes on your mouth.   He met your gaze for a reply. 

“I know,” you said.   “Can we?”   You felt a bit silly for asking but he smiled.  

“Yes, I think so,” he said, sliding his hand around to cup the back of your head.   His fingers tangled in your hair, grip kind but firm.   He pulled you towards him, tipping your head and leaning forward until his breath whispered against your lips.   Your eyes fluttered open and closed, both hands holding the sheets simply for something to do.   Castiel did not close that final inch of space but tipped his head, looking at you curiously.   “Have you kissed many people?” he asked, then seemed to mentally admonish himself.   “I apologize for repeatedly asking.   I don’t want to disappoint or upset you.”   

“How would you do that?” you asked, legitimately wondering.   He seemed so sure of all his actions, _and_ he was an angel, but maybe these bodily details unnerved him too.   

“By not kissing you as you deserve,” he said, voice gravelly as he looked down at you.   He tipped your head back, his gaze locked on yours.   You breathed against his mouth, a tantalizing and agonizing closeness.  

“And how do I deserve to be kissed?” you asked, delirious with want, hardly sure of your own question.   It registered just fine when his other hand moved to your lap, outside the blankets but squeezing your thigh.   You made a little noise as he tipped his head, angling it for that much needed kiss. 

“Greatly,” he said.  “Properly.”  He made a little sound, looked at you with obvious intent before brushing his lips against yours.   “Often, I hope.” 

“I’ve never properly kissed anyone,” you said, a breathless confession, words almost slurring.   You didn’t want to talk anymore; you just wanted him.  But he did nothing so you asked, “have you?”  

“Yes.”  He sighed and the exhale ran across your lips, his mouth barely touching yours before he spoke again.   “Not many,” he admitted, “but I have.” 

“Teach me,” you replied, scarcely above a whisper.   You gripped the bedsheets tightly, hips shifting beneath the covers.   His hand still rested on your thigh, divided by material.  “Show me.   Please.” 

He needed no further prompting, slanting his lips over yours in such a way that your eyes fell immediately closed.   You quickly lost breath, forced to inhale shakily between your lips.   Then he was kissing you with slow, short, deliberate action, gentle and unhurried.  You met his lips every time, a teasing caress before it broke just to start over again.   You puckered your lips a little surer and he kissed you longer, grip tightening behind your head as his mouth pressed down against yours.   You made a pleased sound, a high hum turned surprised when his tongue nudged your closed lips.   You parted them on impulse, your noisy response swallowed as the kiss turned scalding, open-mouthed and heated. 

“Cas,” you gasped, kiss separating for only a moment.   He lifted his hand from your lap to cup your cheek, holding you steady as he tipped his head. 

“Open your mouth,” he said, voice almost croaking with its low scrape.   You complied, tentatively opening it a little wider.   You felt a bit peculiar but then he leaned forward and experimentally licked into your mouth.   It felt strange and messy and erotic at once, sensation striking between your legs, heat spreading.   You whimpered as he pulled back, his tongue swiping your bottom lip.   You started to close your mouth but he slipped his hand toward it, thumb falling between your lips.   “Keep it open,” he said, and you moaned at the confident direction.   You hadn’t even realized how much of a turn-on his teachings were.   He had taken the lead simply out of necessity, seemingly well-versed in this subject and not shy in exploring it, but you were more than happy to leave him in command if it would ignite such hot sparks.

“Beautiful mouth,” Cas murmured, thumb circling your lips.  You opened your eyes to look at him, gaze heavy-lidded, a desperate sound ringing in your throat.   You shifted where you sat, uncomfortable only for how turned on and unsatisfied you were.   But Castiel seemed content with taking his time, kissing you again, tongue swiping the roof of your mouth before rubbing against yours.   You closed your eyes again, sighing into the kiss.   When he pulled back, you opened your eyes again, saw his own mouth was a swollen, darker pink than before.    He kissed you once more, a chaste kiss until he sucked your bottom lip between his own, teeth nipping it the way you had done before.   “So beautiful,” he repeated, pulling away again.   He looked at you closely.  “Was that acceptable?”  he asked, both hands now cupping your cheeks.   You stared at him a bit dreamily. 

“Yeah,” you said, “so… so good.”   He smiled.   You wondered if his questions were legitimate concerns or just teasing remarks.   The latter may have been a disguise for the former.   He was a collection of delightful contradictions, confident and unsure and curious and wanting.   Your heart was beating fast and your skin flushed under his attentive gaze.    “What’s next?” you asked, his thumbs gently tracing your jawline, eyes roaming your face.   He met your gaze and tipped his head.

“Next,” he repeated, then straightened and held you firmly.   “Do you have a preference?” 

“Do you?”  you asked, closing your lips when his thumb pressed against them, the centre of your mouth.   He stared there for a moment then lowered his hand, knuckles brushing your chin, throat, and down, until his fingers curled around the sheets with your own.

“Yes,” he said with that deep, growling voice which did so much on its own.  You licked your lips, watched his eyes trail low before returning to you, lifting your hands from where they held.  He uncovered you, sheets dropping to your waist.  Your breath caught as he tugged your body toward him, hand sliding over your waist.  

“What… what do you want?”  you asked, his other hand rubbing your shoulder, rolling down your bicep and arm. 

“You,” he said, then rougher, “all of you.”   He leaned forward, his mouth tracing the shell of your ear.   Your eyes closed, hands moving onto his shoulders as he pressed soft kisses down the side of your head.  “Y/N, what did you ask me this morning?”

“This morning?”  _This morning._ A morning of awkward insecurities, one which seemed so long ago now, a chapter in some distant stranger’s story.   You recalled before that as well, an intimate exchange, laying side by side, bodies joined, and you recalled your words as you pressed yourself against him, quiet haze making you brazen.   “I, um…”  But it was hard to think with his mouth so delicately tracing your throat, tip of his tongue swiping your skin.   You pressed your fingers into his shoulders, hooking them around the material of his shirt.   You dragged it a bit, gaze dropping to his mostly bare chest.   “I… I said…”   It occurred to you all at once, coupled with his mouth now at that place between neck and shoulder, a warm kiss where he promised to mark before leaving, and your words tumbled free with a small groan, “I asked you to make love to me.”   

He tipped your head, exposing a greater line of your throat, and you held it there for him to kiss as he willed.   He took his time, eyes opening to glance at you before he lifted his head.   His mouth was close to yours again, fingers pushing your hair back. 

“Yes,” he said, “that.”   He kissed you, your breath rushing to his, mouth opening against him.  You hummed sweetly as it ended, his hands moving down to tug the blankets away.   You pressed your thighs together, glancing down as you were uncovered.   His forehead pressed to the top of your head, his gaze also downturned as he pulled the blankets to your knees.   He kissed your temple as his hand moved over your skin, sliding between your thighs to part them.   You separated them a bit, his hand rubbing your inner thigh as he kissed down your face.   “That,” he said again, with a rumbling desperation dropping his lips to your shoulder and sucking on that mark.   Your hand latched to the back of his head, clutching his hair as he groaned.   “I like your colloquialisms,” he said, licking a swirl on your shoulder, glancing up at you.   “Y/N… let me make love to your body.  All of it.”   His hand teased over your sex, sliding back down your thigh.  

“ _Ugh_ ,” was the only sound you could make for a moment, hooking your arms around his neck.   You met his impassioned gaze and sighed contently.   “Yes,” you said, and that was all the indication he needed.   You were on your back in the next moment, blankets kicked off completely.   You hardly noticed the chill of the room until now, his body heat disappearing as he separated from you.   You lay there on your back in the centre of the bed, still somewhat fighting the impulse to cover yourself.   But he sat beside you in a moment, his shirt still parted and hanging off his shoulders, though he removed his trousers and footwear.  He settled over you in boxers and an open shirt.   You gripped the material on his arms, tugging him toward you.    He propped you against some pillows then parted your legs with one of his own, leaning his body over yours. 

“Whatever comes of heaven,” Cas muttered, mouth tracing your jaw, “I cannot deny my father the credit of his creation.”   He gently bit the tender skin of your throat, tongue laving the mark.  He groaned into your skin.  “You are a testament to the beauty of earth.”   _Oh god,_ was all you thought, coherency already fled, words caught in your throat.  His hands went over your hips, lifting them against his own so your bare sex rubbed against his clothed hardness.   You made a small noise, hands slipping beneath his shirt, nails raking his chest as his kisses turned bruising down your throat.  

Your body impatiently sought relief, hips raising to press against him, hands blindly roaming.   But Castiel was in no hurry, mouth sweeping down your throat and across your shoulder, down your collarbone to the centre of your chest.   You breathed hard, gaze flittering to the ceiling as his hands found yours.   He directed them away, pressing them into the pillows above your head.   He lifted his head to look down at you, fingers lacing as he held you there for a moment.   Your steady breathing was infected with a sound both pleased and pleading, his mouth on yours for a breathless moment.  

You kept your hands where they were, even as he moved down.   He held your waist and shifted, your legs now cradling his hips, his mouth hovering above your chest.   Your breathing ran laboured again, his hands skimming up your sides until he could thumb the underside of your breasts.   He had not administered much attention here, not before now, nor had you ever paid much heed.   Your breasts had never seemed too sensitive but that changed, chest rising and falling with each breath, nipples already stiffening from exposure and arousal.    His thumbs circled around them, mouth teasing the skin higher on your chest.   Suddenly an area you never cared about before was the pinnacle of pleasure, and you needed him to touch you better.   You turned your knees inward, holding him tight between your legs.   You flipped your hands and clutched the pillows beneath you, staring down at where his hands were careful and slow.   

He looked at you then, blue eyes blazing with dark, determined yearning, and seeming to anticipate your exact reaction before he did anything.    He kept his gaze on you and parted his lips, sealing them over a nipple before closing his eyes.   You tipped your head back, your back arching, a soft moan on your lips as he dragged his mouth over the hardened peak.   He pulled back and repeated, pressing himself between your thighs as he circled his tongue over that sensitive bud.   You lost yourself so deftly in the sensation, you did not notice his other hand, not until his soft caress kneaded your unattended breast a little surer.   You looked down just as he pressed that nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching just enough that you gave him another noise.   His mouth moved between your breasts and he kneaded your flesh, your back arching again.   He licked over the second nipple as well, hands sliding down your hips before he followed.

It was then you realized his full intention, his mouth peppering kisses on your stomach and hips—Cas was literally _making love_ to _all_ of you, like he said.   From head to toe, he was covering every inch with a kiss or a touch, and given the hardened cock which now pressed against your thigh, you could only assume he enjoyed his endeavour.  

You moaned with this realization, arms stretched above you, folding under your head.   Castiel looked up at you for a moment, kissed your lower abdomen before sliding his whole body lower.   A small tremor crawled up your spine, your gaze locked on him as he focussed on the wet heat between your thighs.   You didn’t think he was would go down on you twice, but you honestly did not know, anticipation swelling regardless.   He kissed you tenderly, a teasing press to your mound before he moved lower.   You spread your legs without direction, lifted your hips when his mouth fell over you again.   His tongue licked forward, teasing your outer lips before he kissed again. 

But then he moved aside, mouth falling to your thigh.   You groaned, hips thrusting once while he sucked a kiss on your inner thigh.   You yelped when he bit down, nipping the skin and warming it with his mouth.   You finally lowered a hand, touching the back of his head until he slipped from reach.   He kissed down your thigh, the inside of your knee, hand rubbing your calf before he leaned over and kissed your other leg.   

Then he repositioned himself, kneeling upright and pulling off the shirt.   You wondered if he had any idea how beautiful he was—not just the human body (which in itself was the recreation of someone else), but every detail of his physical person which had shaped to suit him perfectly.   It was the way his gaze flickered, how he looked at you, the way tufts of hair fell, the way he breathed, the lines of his shoulders, the grip of his hands on your outer thighs.   And he was still so strong, even if other angelic capabilities had faded.    He managed to pull you upright without blinking twice, a hand under your chin directing your face towards his.   You kneeled where he did, meeting a kiss faintly tainted with the taste of you.       

“You’re too good at this,” you murmured, and he smiled lightly.   You didn’t know if it was true or not; you didn’t exactly have a basis for comparison.   All the same, you could only deduce Castiel was something else, even if he ran on pure instinct and basic research.   “Don’t stop,” you said, though you knew that was unlikely.  

Castiel physically repositioned you, lifting you from your knees and turning you around.   You settled on your knees once more, your back to him.    He gathered your hair and pushed it over your shoulder, out of his way, running his fingers over your shoulderblade.  

“I have no plans to leave your bed, _wife_ ,” he said, punctuating his sentence with a bite on your shoulder, that same spot so carefully marked before.   You tipped your head to grant him access, his mouth likely bruising that tender juncture.   It sent a bolt of heat between your legs and a shiver down your spine.    His hand trailed up your backside, smoothing over the skin, and you leaned towards him while his lips paused in their assault.   “You’re certain you wish to keep this mark?”  he asked, one hand sliding over your hip, down the front of your thigh.   You nodded vehemently. 

“Yeah,” you rasped, “I want… I want my husband’s brand on me.”  He made a low noise, kissing the back of your neck.  You smiled, his fingers teasing at your thigh.  “I want people to see,” you continued.  “I want to be yours—”  Your own gasp stifled you, head thrown back to land on his shoulder when he finally moved his hand where you needed it.   He stroked back and forth, feeling you and easing you into a gentle motion.  

“You’ll have what you want,” he grunted, thumb rolling over your clit.   You shuddered in his arms, grinding your hips down.   His other hand slipped beneath you, working a finger then two inside you.    You gasped again and thrust down, arching forward.   You began to tip over so he pulled his fingers free, arm looping around you and hand settling just below your breast.   His other hand did not cease, continuing to rub you until you were a whimpering mess in his arms, leaning completely against him, your knees weak.   You could feel an orgasm winding but for some reason it seemed so far.   You made a few desperate noises, his hand working faster, then you muttered some useless nothing as he palmed at your breast.   “Finish,” he growled in your ear, hard circles on your clit, “I want to feel you,” a broken kiss on your temple, breath warm against your ear, “Y/N.”  

Your name pulled the final trigger, something of a convulsion to your orgasm as you tried to snap your legs closed, crying out and falling forward.   He held you steady, hand riding you through it, then he eased you down while caressing your hips.  

“Cas,” you groaned, slouching against him for a moment.   He kissed the back of your head, patting your hips. 

“Y/N,” he returned, a hand then sliding over your rear.   You yelped when he pinched it, whipping your head to look at him over your shoulder.   His eyes bore something of an impish gleam, but he gazed at you quite innocently.   You smiled, biting back giggles.   The interlude was soon forgotten, however, washed aside by a heated kiss, his hand on your throat holding you in place.   You moaned, fingers tracing the back of his hand.   His hand slipped beneath yours, down to your hips again.   He grasped you and nudged you along, helping you off the bed to stand on your feet.   You were a bit shaky, honestly, but you held his hand as he slid to the edge of the bed.  His boxers were gone, though you didn't recall him removing them, and you supposed he must have snapped them off with angel mojo. 

“Come here,” he said, guiding you towards him again.   You stepped close, locking your hands on his shoulders as he gripped your hips and lifted.   You parted your legs and settled in his lap, breath catching as his cock rubbed against you.   

“You sure you want me on top?” you whispered, a bit nervous.   His hand moved between you and you lifted yourself onto your knees, allowing him to align his body with yours. 

“Yes,” he said, looking up at you.   “I’ll help you.”  He kissed the centre of your chest, head of his cock at your entrance.  “Let me give you everything.”   You shivered again, his hands on your hips gradually lowering you onto him.    Your breath turned to panting already, speeding the deeper he moved inside of you.   You were settled on his lap again soon, nonsensical sound spilling from your lips as he filled you.   He kissed you, guiding your hips up again.   It dragged an embarrassingly wanton sound out of you, the painfully slow movement, a sound he quite eagerly mimicked.   You dug your nails into his shoulders, your body lowered again.  You lifted yourself next time, a little higher, and he thrust upward while you moved down.   You squeaked, muscles clenching, and he groaned. 

It didn’t take long to understand your body after that.   You were still so sensitive from your last orgasm but the feeling of him inside of you was incomparable to much else.   Keen, you were practically bouncing in his lap before long, equal pants and gasps and groans filling the room, silent beyond the press and slap of skin.   Then he angled your body differently and you cried out, grinding yourself down on him, downward thrusts rubbing past your clit.   You moaned, body tensing as your sensitive nerves shook with uncertain protest.   You pushed them past it, each pant laced with a high sound.   He clearly decided to help you because his hand began to circle you.   You grabbed onto him and held steady while he thrust up into you, and you came apart around him before he followed.    You had just receded from that height when his hips pitched beneath you and he came inside you, your body shaking all over again.   

“ _Castiel_ ,” you panted, holding him tight.   His hands moved over your backside, fingertips pressing in hard.   You held each other for a minute and then you kissed him, holding his face steady while you did so.   The hurried kiss turned lazy before falling apart, his lips on your cheek before he finally helped you up.   You paused, groaning when you felt something slide down your inner thigh, his cum or your own wetness.  

Castiel stood, holding you against him before he knelt down on the bed, laying you on your back.   He pulled out of you completely and you tipped your head back, breathing hard.   He groaned as he pulled free, then he bent down and pressed a hand to your inner thigh.   Anything uncomfortably sensitive or achy healed over, and you expected him to similarly clean whatever mess lay between your thighs.   He decided to physically bend over instead, and your mouth opened in a wordless exclamation as he began to lick away the mess. 

“Cas,” you said, no coherent statement beyond that.   He didn’t seem to care what taste fell upon his tongue, but he moved towards your dripping centre and began to eat you out slowly.   It was almost soothing at first, warm swipe of tongue in every intimate crevasse—but it gradually changed.  You felt it in your whole body when he slowly built you towards that familiar height.   His name tumbled from your lips, your chest heaving, fingers stabbing the bedsheets as he looked up at you from where he lay, mouth never ceasing.   You came with his name on your lips, exclaimed loudly, hips bucking and legs all but slamming around his head.   He caught you and held you, lazily running his tongue over you after you had settled.  

“Fuck,” was your final word, a soft whisper.   He kissed your stomach, chest, and below your chin, then leaned over you and met your gaze. 

“You must be tired,” he said, and you nodded a bit.  He kissed you, short and soft, then rolled over to lay at your side.   He wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you against him before you could turn around.   You were quite happy with this position, settling in his arms as he kissed your shoulder.    “Rest for now, wife,” he said, “I’ll want you again soon.”    Even after everything, you couldn’t help the faint moan.   He silenced it, kissing your temple, fingers stroking over your stomach.   “Rest.”

It was not a difficult command to obey.   It had already been late when you all went to the bar, and later still now.   You drifted off before long, tingling deliciously, your mind happily sated with the promise of your husband and so much more when you woke next.  

 


	4. Fantasy and Reality

You awoke to Castiel kissing your temple.  He was dressed and seemingly rushing.   You blinked your eyes open, looked at him confusedly.

“Cas?” you murmured.  “What’s—”  Your question was interrupted by a yawn but he seemed to understand, brushing some of your hair back. 

“You should sleep,” he said, inclining his head.  “One of my allies is summoning my presence to heaven.   I should see what’s disturbing them.”   You groaned, shifting beneath the covers.   You realized you wore a large t-shirt though you had not fallen asleep in that—you had not fallen asleep in _anything_.  You looked down at yourself and he followed your gaze, smiling gently.   “It was difficult to pry myself from your side,” he said, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“’s fine,” you grumbled, lifting a hand to touch the side of his face.   “Will you be back soon?”  He turned his head and kissed your palm, looking down at you with sincere affection.

“I will try,” he said. 

He was gone shortly after that, kissing you again before he departed.   You rolled over and fell into sleep, hoping he would return by dawn.    It did not happen.    You awoke to an empty bed and sighed to yourself, nonetheless rising and dressing for the day.    You met the Winchesters in the kitchen.   They appeared to be packing some provisions for the road.  

“Got another case?” you asked, making for the fridge.   Sam looked at you a bit funny and Dean had a moment of amusement, but you were still a bit groggy and didn’t heed it.  

“Yup,” Dean eventually answered, tossing Sam an apple.   Sam caught it, his eyes on a newspaper.   He bit down while determinedly skimming an article.   “Sounds like there might be a vamp nest couple states over.   We’ll be gone a few days.   You gonna be okay?”    Dean asked that every time, though his question held gravity because this was their first expedition after your marriage.   You could venture outside now and they all knew you would.   Though you admitted that despite knowing you were now protected, it was a daunting idea, especially with everyone so far away from you.

“I’ll be fine,” you said.   You decided to do some research before committing to any journey.   For now you just smiled, grabbing some food out of the fridge and returning to the table.   “You guys be safe, though, you hear?”   You always replied with such a comment and that eased Dean.   He ruffled your hair. 

Not long after that, the Winchesters were gone and you sat alone in the library.   Sam had provided you with a text outlining your marriage.   You skimmed through it and verified your thoughts.  You mostly wondered what force actually prevented heavenly agents from harming you because it surely wasn’t an honour system.   But it seemed to involve the _celestial consummation_ on your wedding night.   You had some of his grace inside of you, all but melded into your soul, and it served as some kind of shield.   It protected you as well as him.   If something happened to him, his grace somehow taken, angels attempting to break the accord by rendering him human, it would still be partially locked inside you.   Your contract would always stand; he would always be an angel and you would always be part of him. 

_Bound for eternity_ , you thought.   Once the prophet and angel had joined, it was everlasting.  Not even heaven could undo it.   Some of Castiel’s stronger abilities had waned but he was irrefutably angelic.   Thanks to this, he would perpetually remain so, regardless of his enemy’s attempts to dismantle him. 

You waited in the bunker for a while, uncertain of when to expect Castiel’s return.   His visits were once rare but you supposed that would change.   Your stomach knotted in anticipation.  

Otherwise idle, you daydreamed for a moment, one of your oldest fantasies playing in your mind.   The first time it occurred, you could not meet his eye for weeks.   You were always careful to never utter his name aloud lest you be heard by someone.   Even when you were alone, you kept it all inside your head.   He could suddenly materialize and hear you and that would have horrified poor, infatuated you.  

But you had no such worry anymore, wanting nothing more than for him to appear while you murmured his name.    You slouched in your seat and closed your eyes.   His name fell from your lips with a gentle sigh, reflective, wistful, gentle.   Your daydream floated absently though your mind, dream-Castiel sitting across from you, his eyes wandering your form.   You innocently skipped around him, dressed in a skirt which lifted suggestively when you stretched or bent over.   He would admire each swivel of your hips and dip of your body, watching and watching until it was too much.   He would stand and approach you, eyes blazing with predatory intent.  A wildly confused question would fall from your lips _—“Castiel, what are you doing?”—_ but he would just press you against the table, his front aligned to your backside, hard ridge of his cock straining through his pants.   His arms would cage you, his hands beside yours on the table.   

_“You know what I’m doing,”_ is all the reply he would offer, and your oh-so scandalized self would gasp as he hoisted your skirt, flipping it above your waist.

_“Oh, Castiel,”_ dream-you always murmured, an utterance in actuality this time.  But you were still alone, even as your thoughts played themselves out.   Castiel would yank your underwear down, desperate and impatient, and he would part your legs, grip your hips, undo his pants and fill you with one solid thrust.   He would be unrelenting and you would gasp, groan, writhe in pleasure.   And when he had finished, he would lower your skirt, pocket your panties, and straighten you.   He would hold you tight against him, your back to his front, and his hand would curve around your throat and hold just tight enough to lock you in place.   He would turn your head and kiss you, nip at your bottom lip.  

_“You know whose you are,”_ he would say, and his mouth would find that spot between neck and shoulder to brand.

You touched that mark now, recalling it still existed.   You blushed when you remembered the looks Sam and Dean had thrown you that morning.   They made a little more sense now.   Still, you didn’t have it in you to be embarrassed, not while thoughts of your husband danced around your head, his mark on display, his touch like a phantom presence across your skin and—

—and waiting for him was going to drive you mad, you realized.  You had only been married a couple days but you supposed heavenly wars did not care about interrupting your honeymoon period.   At any rate, you couldn’t just sit around in the bunker waiting for him.  Making use of your newfound freedom, you pulled on shoes and a coat and took a walk.   You were a bit jumpy but your greatest adversary proved to be a squirrel.   After your walk, you decided to eat out.   By the time you finally returned to the bunker, it was getting late, and still no sign of Castiel.   You couldn’t hold it against him; the things he did were important.   You idled around the bunker for a bit, watched some television, then fell asleep listening to music.  

You hoped to wake the following morning to Castiel in your bed, but no such luck.  You spent another day out, chatting on the phone with Sam for a bit.  The day was not very exciting but you enjoyed yourself, hopping a bus into the city and spending some time just _experiencing_ the things you had missed for the past several months.   You returned home with some dinner, ate while listening to the radio, then turned in shortly after that.

This regime continued for three more days.   You wondered how you could ever go weeks without seeing Castiel, then supposed the answer was obvious; there was never a promise of intimacy until now.    All the same, you had your independence, but damnit if you weren’t already going through withdrawal.  

Though you tried to wait, you couldn’t help but fall onto your bed with your hand between your legs, attempting to recreate every glorious sensation he had shared with you.   It was a pale comparison but satisfied some tension.  

“Castiel,” you murmured, picturing his return.   He would be absolutely mad with desire, taking you right up against the door.   He would utter stories of the past few days, how he had thought of you, wanted you, needed you like you needed him.   You gasped, moaned, whimpered, throwing your head back and bucking your hips as you came.   Then you just lay there, panting, staring up at the ceiling and bracing yourself for another day.   You dressed then stood in front of your sparse closet, frowning.

Because you had been in the bunker for so long, and because your move had been quite spontaneous, you didn’t actually own many clothes.   You would lounge in the same grungy ensembles for days at a time, your few appropriate outfits saved for when the boys accompanied you somewhere.   Now that you could come and go as you pleased, you realized you would need a bit more clothing. Grabbing the emergency credit card Dean had given you, you left the bunker and made for the city, hitting up a department store.

You hummed to yourself, content, ever anticipating Castiel’s return.   You refused to call the knots in your stomach anything but anticipation.   Nerves implied he was in danger.   You knew he could be but you tried not to think of it, attempted to be optimistic.   

A kind employee helped you with your shopping, taking some outfits to the dressing room for you to try on.   You browsed for a few more ensembles when something caught the corner of your eye.   _Hmm._

You wandered over to the lingerie section.   You owned a few nice articles, purchased for yourself and your own sense of sexiness.   But lingerie was expensive and you never really went out of your way to obtain it.   But you looked over a few pieces now, pictured yourself wearing them, pictured _Castiel_ if he returned to find you lazing in some of the more provocative numbers. 

“Can I try some of these on?” you asked the employee, not wanting to purchase something that turned out to be unflattering.

“Some of them, yes,” the lady said.  “Some you can’t.  Hygiene reasons, of course.” 

“Of course,” you said, fiddling with the silky material of a push-up bra.   “Could you, um, show me which are okay to… I’d like to try…”   Apparently marriage had not totally cured your blushes.   The lady took pity, smiled kindly.

“Of course,” she said.  “I’ll help you.  This way.”

You picked a few pieces and she took them to the dressing room, adding them to your other articles.   You returned to the clothing section, browsing one last time before your dressing room retreat.   The store was quite empty.  It was a decent establishment but you supposed this wasn’t a popular hour for shopping.   You were halfway to the dressing room, mind wandering absently when a hand landed on your arm.   You thought it was the lady and politely turned around.

“ _Castiel!_ ”  You all but launched yourself at him, arms thrown around his shoulders and face plastered to his chest.   He chuckled, smoothing a hand down your hair, the other wrapping around you.   “Ugh, you’ve been gone for days…”   You pouted, tipping your head back to look at him.

“I apologize,” he said, blue eyes swimming with promise and sincerity.  Your heart beat faster but you swore something rippled deeper, right in the core of your being, and you wondered if it was the reunion of his grace inside you.   The culmination of everything just increased your heart rate, your smile bright, his glance affectionate.   He leaned down and kissed you, not half so desperately as you would have liked but you supposed this was a public place.   He pulled back and looked around, squinting a bit.   “Why are you here?” he asked. 

“I wanted to do some shopping,” you said.  “I needed some new clothes.” 

“I see.”  He looked down at you again, a certain look flashing in his gaze.  “Are you finished?” 

You bit your bottom lip, unable to refuse the action, smiling a little bit.   His eyes dropped to your mouth and you freed your lip, locking your hands behind his neck.

“Why?” you asked, boldly teasing.   He looked at you dryly, humouring your feigned innocence. 

“I have been securing some levels of heaven for days,” he said, hands on your hips, drawing you close, “though I seemed to endure weeks because of distracting prayers.”    You looked at him with legitimate confusion, tipping your head.   He leaned down towards you, chastely kissing your cheek.   It looked like an innocent action, and no one else knew that he leaned towards your ear to whisper lowly, “When you utter my name with such yearning, wife, you open your thoughts to a channel of communication.”

Your fantasies from the past few days all flittered through your head.   You couldn’t help but blush, thinking of the images you had unwittingly sent Castiel.   You had heaped your own sexual frustration on top of his, not to mention accidentally sharing ideas you could not openly admit.  He lifted a hand to your face, thumb stroking your pink cheek.   You were two seconds away from forgetting about the clothes, allowing him to zap you back to the bunker and just have his damn way with you… when you remembered a couple of the pieces hanging up in that cubicle.  

“I’m almost done here,” you said, sliding your hands down his chest, fidgeting with the lapels of his coat.  “I just want to try a few things on.  Will you stay while I do that or do you have somewhere to be?”   He placed a hand over yours, held it to his chest and looked at you fondly. 

“I’d like to keep your company,” he said, then seemed to surrender a thought.  “Will this take very long?”  

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head.   He smiled. 

“No,” you said, “I don’t think so.   Come on.”   You pulled out of his embrace, took his hand in yours.   You smiled up at him while weaving through racks of clothes, eventually turning your gaze ahead.   Your cheeks were still warm, alight with a faint blush, and you doubted it would recede—not with what you were planning.    The employee was leaving the dressing room area just as you entered.   She offered her assistance should it be necessary and then retreated.  

“She was very kind,” Castiel said absently, looking around.   The dressing rooms were tucked inside a nook, a row of cubicles with floor-lengths doors, white and wooden and slatted closed.  There was a rack of clothes to be returned outside and three full-length mirrors, framed around each other to pose and admire your own form.   There were two armchairs and a bench, though the room was empty of all people.  

“Just sit there,” you said, gesturing to an armchair in front of your cubicle.   “I just have a couple things I want to try on.”    He nodded, seating himself in a chair, sitting rather stiff before awkwardly leaning back, not succeeding in finding much comfort.   You just giggled, stepping into the cubicle and closing the door.   You looked at yourself in the mirror inside, pulled a face before shaking your head.   _Right,_ you said.  _Gotta do this properly._

You changed into pants and a shirt first, stepped out to look at yourself in the mirrors.   You had a decent idea of the ensemble with the one cubicle mirror, but there was a science to your presentation and you would not screw it up.  

“Nice, huh?” you asked, looking at Castiel.   He nodded.   He seemed to have found a comfortable position, leaning slightly to one side.   He propped his head against his fist, his other arm draped over the back of the chair.   You swallowed, looking away from him.   You still weren’t too sure why that position was so attractive but damn, was it ever.   _Get it together,_ you told yourself, returning to the cubicle.  _This is your sexy parade, not his, damnit._

You changed into a summer dress, loose and flowy, cutting off just above the knee.   You had picked it up in recollection of your library fantasy, and now that he knew about it you wondered if it would affect him.   You stepped out of the cubicle, smoothing the material over your hips, and you felt his eyes follow you as you approached the mirror. 

“This is pretty, I think,” you said, turning a bit, giving him a decent view of your backside, the dip of the dress.   You looked at him over your shoulder.   “What do you think?”

His eyes were a bit low, sweeping up your legs before meeting your gaze.  Despite the inherent flirtation, his words were spoken kindly.

“You look… very beautiful,” he said, head lifting off his fist for a moment.   You smiled, looked at yourself in the mirrors before retreating.   “Are there many more?” he asked.   You looked back at him, slowly closing your cubicle door. 

“Almost there,” you said, watching as he pressed his temple to his fist again.  How he could be adorable and sexy at once, you weren’t sure.    You closed the cubicle door and locked it, turning to look at your next piece.   You carefully undressed, taking your time to don each article.   You kept an ear on the space outside make sure no one else wandered into the dressing room.   It sounded pretty empty out there, though. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror once dressed.   It wasn’t too brazen, lacy black panties that slung low at your hips, a black bra which pushed up your breasts, full cups but lacy like the underwear.    You snapped one of the straps against your skin, smiling as you looked at yourself.   You weren’t going to lie, the lingerie thing really worked wonders.   

You opened and the door stepped out, fighting a blush as you went over to the mirror.   You did not look at him directly but you saw Castiel was immediately affected.   His arm dropped from its perch, his head following you very deliberately.   You looked at him, expression innocent as ever.  

“What do you think?” you asked.   He didn’t seem to know where to look, gaze flicking over your body before he looked up at you.   He said nothing but tipped his head, looking at you with a sort of scrutiny—he totally knew what you were doing and that heated glance set a fire in your core.   “Not this one, then?” you asked, snapping the waistband of the underwear against your hip.   His eyes fell to the motion before he met your gaze again.   His pupils had dilated noticeably, blue pierced with black.   “Right.  Better try again then,” you said, returning to your cubicle without further ado. 

The _really_ skimpy bits couldn’t be tried on in-store, only purchased, so you couldn’t torment him beyond any brink.   But your second ensemble pushed a decent boundary.   The underwear was thin, almost see-through, the bra strapless and cups small, just covering you enough to stay on.  A sheer material draped over your middle, leaving little to the imagination.  You turned in front of the mirror, smiled to yourself, and stepped out again. 

He was sitting straight this time, arms on the armrests, staring at your door.   He watched as you passed him, stepping up to the mirrors once more.

“So?” you asked, looking at him.   You gathered your hair and lifted it onto your head, arms stretching, exposing a little more skin.   You turned your hips this way and that, faced him with your eyebrows lifted.   He was breathing very evenly, like it required effort to keep that rhythm, and his gaze was fixated low on your body.  You watched him wet his lips as his eyes moved up.  Then he looked at you as one solitary word tumbled from his lips, gravelly and hot and dark. 

“ _Fuck_.” 

That sound hit you right between the legs, fires melting to wet heat and you figured you would have to buy this underwear pretty soon if you didn’t get them off… 

He stood when you reached the cubicle, though, and suddenly you were rushed inside.   You stumbled backward, hitting the mirror, and he closed the door behind himself.   Your heart raced, breath catching, the look in his eyes hungry and determined.  You lowered your gaze, not missing that hard bulge in his trousers.   Looking up again, you pressed yourself against the mirror and gasped as he approached.

“We can’t do this here,” you said quickly, swallowing.   He stopped inches from your face, leaning over you, his wild eyes not straying anywhere else.   “And I can’t bring this with me.  I haven’t paid for it.” 

“Then you should take it off,” he said.   His hands were on you before you could blink, unhooking the clasp at the front of the bra.   It gave way, floating to the floor around you.   His hands were rough and quick, exactly how you fantasized, and you were pretty sure prayer was not intended for such usage but _blessed be accidental prayers._    He shoved at the material on your hips, crouching as he pulled it down your thighs and past your knees.   You stepped out of it and he stood again, leaving you completely naked under his roving stare.

“Castiel…” you murmured, his gaze lifting to meet yours.   A hand lifted towards your face, thumb running over your lips. 

“You do enjoy my name, don’t you, wife?” he asked. 

“And you enjoy calling me wife, don’t you, husband?” you returned, lips moving over his thumb as you spoke.   His other hand slid over your shoulder, moving into your hair and gripping the back of your head.  You made a low noise as he tugged lightly, tipping your head back, exposing the line of your throat.   Your chest thrust forward as your back curved.   You breathed hard, murmuring nonsensical sounds as he dragged his thumb over your lips, down your chin, fingers splaying over your collarbone and freezing there while his gaze wandered lower.  

“You are irresistibly beautiful,” he said.  “This might be why heaven first outlawed our engagement to your kind.”   You shuddered as his fingers wandered lower, slipping between your breasts, down your stomach, his grip on your hair tightening.   “You’re a welcome distraction,” he said, hand moving aside, down your thigh.  “Though lesser beings would struggle to let you leave their beds.”   You made a wanting noise, his hand sliding to your inner thigh, running upwards but pulling away at the last second.  

“So I haven’t beaten down your resolve yet?” you asked.    His wandering gaze lifted again, dark, focussed.   You licked your lips, fingers curling against the mirror behind you. 

“We’ll see,” he said.   “For now, I want my wife.”  

You yelped as he flipped you around, the moment whirling to dizzying heights as the scene shifted around you.   A wooden door was suddenly in front of you.   It took a moment to realize, but you were back in your bedroom at the bunker.   Your hands were flattened to the door, one of his hands on your hip and the other undoing his pants.   You moaned, a helpless, shaking, desperate sound, realizing this was a combination of two fantasies you sent him.  

You were bent over, hands braced on the door, hair falling over your bare shoulders.   His hand moved between your legs, one of his feet nudging yours.   You groaned, head dropping forward as you spread your legs as per his silent request.   You bit your lip as his hand teased at your wet heat, fingers deftly pressing upward.  

“Take me, please,” you murmured, pressing back against his hand.    A week ago, you could never imagine yourself in such a position, so open and unabashed, but you were completely undone and wanting of one thing.   You tried to press back against him again but he removed his hand, both of them sliding over your backside, moving onto your hips. 

“Take you,” he repeated.   “That is very different from making love, isn’t it?” 

Your response was a vague grunting noise, then you felt the head of his cock between your thighs.  You thrust back, only pausing when his hand moved between you, guiding him to your entrance.  

“You’ll have what you want,” he said, easing inside of you.  You moaned, the feel of him inside you again perfect.   “If I had ever known you were so eager,” he said with a grunt, pulling back a bit to thrust forward again, “I would have _taken_ you much sooner… thrown you against the nearest space and fucked you until you trembled to think of me.”   You moaned, thudding your hands against the door as he started guiding your hips, sliding them over his cock with each intense thrust.   “But I would not rewrite our story.”  After a few more thrusts, he pulled out and straightened you, hand lightly circling your throat as in your fantasy.   He held you against him and you realized he had zapped his clothes away at some point—some very recent point, because you could feel the brush of material before this.   You all but melted against him, head landing on his shoulder, his fingers soft on your neck.   He kissed the side of your face, slow, warm.   “I take far too much pleasure in being your husband.”

“I love being your wife,” you said, words scarcely spoken before he sat on the bed.   He kept your back pressed to his chest but helped you onto him, your legs spread over him, straddling his thighs as he entered you.   You sunk onto his cock, tipping your head back so his temple pressed to yours. 

“Then I would say I have succeeding in taking you,” he said, all but bouncing you in his lap.   You panted, reaching back to touch a hand to his face.   His breath hit your neck in short, hot bursts, his hands sliding down to your thighs, moving you over him.   His thrusts only slowed when his hand moved towards you, fingers prying, circling your clit as he moved inside you.  Your sounds turned frantic, delving to one moan as you came apart, clenching around him.   He pounded up into you, low noises rolling past his lips as you squeezed his cock inside you.  Your faint convulsions finally ceased, just as he finished.  You slumped against him, a small, weak noise still threaded into every pant.  

“Y/N,” he said, kissing your cheek, brushing your hair back.   “Are you all right?”

“All right,” you repeated, “I’m more than all right.”   He laughed at that, a short but pleased sound, his arms wrapping around your waist.   You reached back for him, groaning as he lifted you up and onto your feet.   You stumbled for a second, then found yourself back in his arms.   He laid back on the bed, not high enough to reach the pillows, but centred quite surely.   He held you against him, your head tucked under his chin, fingers on his shoulders.   “I missed you,” you said after a moment.   He kissed the top of your head. 

“I did as well,” he said.  “I find it very difficult to be apart from you, even more than before.”   He looked down at you then and you looked up, curious.   He smiled gently.   “Have you enjoyed your freedom?” he asked.   You smiled back.

“Yeah,” you said.  “But it’s nice when I get to share it with you.” 

“I look forward to sharing days with you,” he said, brushing his fingers over your cheek, leaning down and kissing you.    You remained there for a while, languidly kissing, unwinding from the passion before.  After a while you leaned back, arching your back a bit as you stretched.  

“Come on,” you said, slowly sitting up.   He followed, looking at you curiously.   “I do want to buy some more clothes eventually,” you said, “though I think you shouldn’t accompany me.”  He sort of grinned at that, his fingers idly stroking over your thigh.   “But that’s not where I’m headed.  After all this, I think,” you smiled to yourself, batting your eyelashes, “that I need a shower.”  

He looked like he had a comment but then paused, considering it.   He looked at you again and you lifted your eyebrows, tipping your head. 

“Are you coming?” you asked, offering your hand.   He looked at it and then met your gaze, smiling.  

He placed his hand in yours.  

 


	5. Between This and That

It seemed Castiel’s contradicting personalities bled over to the bedroom.   You weren’t sure which side you liked more, the one that manhandled you and fucked you up against a door, or the one that laid you down and made slow love to every inch of your person.   You were pleased with each facet, each unique side, and one common thing spurred you for sure—that damned voice.   He could recite the freaking phone book into your ear while running his hand down your body and you would still melt in his arms. 

“Cas,” you murmured, the hot spray of the shower falling over you.   Your back was against him, his hands slipping over every wet, warm curve.   His already interested cock was hard and upright against your backside, his hips gently rocking against yours, dick sliding between the cleft of your ass.   You bent forward a bit, gasping as the water helped mould your bodies together.   He continued to slowly rub you against him, his hand encircling your throat as he had learned you liked.   He pulled you upright again, leaning you against him, the gentle rock of his hips never ceasing.  

“Y/N,” that gorgeous voice replied, rumbling low at your ear.   You turned your head, catching his mouth in a kiss that ended when you recalled your first thought. 

“Talk to me,” you said gently, lifting a hand to the side of his face, stroking your fingers down his jaw as you faced forward again.   His hand found yours, lowering it to your side before he slid his hands over your hips.

“Talk to you,” he repeated, like he was puzzling out the phrase.  You bit your lip and nodded, sighing as he pooled some water in his hand and let it pour down your breast.   His hand followed, thumb circling your nipple, his other hand rubbing back and forth over your hip.  He still gently moved against you from behind, actions careful and slow.  

“Yeah,” you repeated, breathing out, “talk.”  

You had pulled back your hair before climbing into the shower, so his mouth easily settled at your nape in a warm kiss.  

“Talk to you,” he repeated again, fingers stroking your breast.   “About my thoughts for you,” he confirmed, moving his hand across your chest, palming a breast while he pressed his forehead to the back of your head, gaze seemingly focussed downward.   “About… desire,” he continued, kissing the back of your neck again, gently squeezing your breast.   You hummed with a curt nod, tipping your head as he began to lay kisses down your neck.  “I confess… I was never partial to… hedonistic tendencies…  For most of my existence, it baffled, then intrigued, then…”   He opened his mouth against your shoulder, nipping a small spot and swiping it with his tongue.   “Then you invited yourself into my comfortable reservations… picking them apart one by one…” 

Castiel had not necessarily been cold to you prior to this marriage, but he was definitely a mystery.   You only interacted on necessity, pleasantries exchanged given you could stop blushing long enough to utter them, but that was all.   And those simple niceties were the good days.   Most days, he didn’t seem swayed by your presence whatsoever.   It wasn’t rude or cold, like you said, but you would _never_ have guessed that he _ever_ bore a similar infatuation to your own.    You found yourself replaying old memories and wondering how they could have gone if you had only been a little more bold… if he had been a little more forward…

“I did?” was your simple reply, carrying the weight of those all curiosities.   He slid both hands around your waist, drawing one back to curve it over your rear and squeeze, sending another jolt of heat between your legs. 

“You did.”  That growl would completely undo your sanity one of these days.    You just stood there panting, the water running over both your bodies, his hard cock at your backside and his hand still on your ass, lightly squeezing the flesh again.   “You were on your knees when we met.   Your injuries were grave and so I healed you.”   You did remember that, the stranger who had single-handedly slain a room of nightmares suddenly dropping onto his knees in front of you, taking your head in his hands and staring at you intensely.   A flood of warmth had moved through you, healing every little scrape and bruise—and _fuck_ , you never really stood a chance against the likes of Castiel, did you?   “You moved against me and moaned into my hand.  The sound stood out in my memory of that night.”   You blushed all over again in recollection; the very moan he recalled so fondly had been a source of embarrassment for a good while. 

“You told me that was your own fantasy,” he continued, the hand on your ass sliding low, moving between your legs.   “I wonder if, after aiding you, I had done as you desired and presented myself to you, would you have refused or…”   You spread your legs a little, making room for him as he handled himself and slid his cock between your thighs.   He did not press into you but rubbed back and forth, teasing your outer lips in a way that left you keening, panting.   “Or would you have done this for me?” he asked, hand lowering to your sex and beginning to softly circle your clit.   “Would you have let me _take you_ so soon, Y/N?”     He rocked his hips but did not even press at your entrance.    You all but flattened yourself against him, clenching your thighs to squeeze him between your legs.

“Castiel, please,” you murmured. 

“Hmm,” his thoughtful sound was a little dry, a little amused, his hand swirling faster over that sensitive nub, “it seems you would.”    You made a little sound as he thrust between your thighs, leaving you achingly empty even while those fingers drove you mad.   “I should have,” he said, growly tone returned, “I almost feared your interest fell to Sam and Dean.   So many times I should have made my own thoughts known.   You deserved better—better than me, I thought, but I continued to wonder… what you would sound like, what you might look like beneath me.  It was… alarming… how easily you shattered my resolve.   Without any effort.”  

“Castiel—”  You could feel your muscles tightening, heat winding low in your body, threatening to spill over.  

“I could not be around you long.  You were so open and innocently kind to me, dressed in your sleep clothes and smiling at me…”  He groaned himself, burying his face in your updone hair, lips against the side of your neck.   “Distractions were plentiful… seeing you on your knees, watching when you bent over, knowing then what you would look like bending for me…”

“Cas, _Cas_ ,” his name turned to a whimper, your head slamming against his shoulder as you felt your orgasm ripple through you.    

 “You moved me to self-pleasure,” Castiel said, his hand easing you from your height, running over your stomach.   “Those hedonistic traps I evaded as an angel suddenly opened.”   He kissed your ear, licked behind it, lips at your earlobe.   “You have not seen debauchery, wife, until you see broken corruption such as that.” 

“Hmm, only fair,” you panted, smiling brightly, “you were the one to corrupt me, in the end.” 

“Yes,” he grunted, hands skimming your sides.  “And I will make recompense by pleasing you every moment I can.” 

He grabbed your hands, pressed them to the wall in front of you.  He ran his hands down your arms, gripping your hips as he finally, _finally_ moved inside of you—only now everything was so much more alert and sensitive.   You moaned, swivelling your hips a bit, fingers curling against the wall as he filled you.  

“Every moment, huh?” you asked, gasping with each thrust.   His hand tangled in your hair, holding you, his other hand gripping your hip.  

“Yes,” he grunted, “until you forget every reality but your husband inside you.” 

“That,” you moaned, meeting his thrusts evenly, “is something I look forward to.” 

It went without saying that by the time you were done in the shower, you probably needed another one.  

-

Things blossomed quite wonderfully between you and Castiel.   You were able to spend quite a lot of time together, some of it in the bedroom, some of it outside.  That was not to say you started getting you freak on anywhere—rather that a developing sexual relationship carried over.   Friendship strengthened and you reached new emotional depths, exploring the physical as well as more.    

You adored spending time with him, cherishing those moments more when they were far from grasp, gaping days he spent away on heavenly duty.   In those periods, you spent time with the Winchesters, sometimes venturing into the city where you made a couple casual acquaintances, and sometimes you were more than happy to just be out and about by yourself.   When Castiel returned, stories would be shared, and you’d inevitably tumble into his arms for another memorable night. 

But… sometimes he was gone a very long time and, while you were a happy individual, it was only natural to miss him _a ridiculous lot_.   

And the worst was when he _was_ here but seriously occupied.   There was always some catastrophe unfurling in this manic little pocket of the world, and it often fell on your friends to see them settled.   It wasn’t really your niche, though you always offered to help.  In the end, your duties were relegated to research assistant and, as usual, keeping the bunker spick and span.    But those were insufficient distractions when your husband was three feet away but completely unavailable. 

The three boys were strewn about the library, books piled high around them, their latest escapade baffling them all.   It was a bit beyond you and so you decided to distance yourself from the affair.  You made things easier in small ways, keeping the fridge stocked because grocery shopping was far from their minds, and maybe being nice enough to play housewife for everyone, bringing them some food and beers when it looked like they needed it. 

They were finally taking a much needed respite, Dean wolfing down a burger while Sam drank some beer and chatted.   Castiel was pretty engrossed in a text but he looked up as you wandered in.   You placed some food on the table but Castiel didn’t have much hunger for such things.   You did feel his eyes following you, though, so you looked back and found his gaze low on your body.     It seemed the past three weeks—seriously, it had been _three weeks_ —were beginning to take their toll on him as well.

You maybe didn’t help matters by wearing that yellow sundress (because you did eventually return to the department store for your things).    And okay, maybe you were also wearing some risqué lace panties underneath the ensemble, not that he knew.   Because, honestly that was just for your own benefit.   If he couldn’t attend you right now, then you kept yourself on edge with every sexy article you could find, satisfying yourself if the need grew too great.   After the last accidental prayer thing, you were careful to keep his name to yourself.   He probably didn’t need those images in his head if he was kicking some rogue angel’s ass in a warehouse somewhere.    It made it a little torturous, to be honest, his name a breath away from falling, your hand between your legs, while you desperately wished for his presence. 

You wondered if he resorted to such measures in your absence.   In sent a wave of heat through you, imagining him crumpled up somewhere with your name on his lips and his hand down his pants.   You swallowed then wet your suddenly dry lips.   His eyes flittered up to the motion, fixated on your mouth for a decent amount of time before he met your gaze.  He pushed his chair out a bit, offered his hand with a silent request.    In your excessively randy state, it was probably a bad idea to comply, but your excessively randy state dictated all your actions right now.   You scurried over, his hand gripping your hip almost immediately.   He tugged you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist and holding you there. 

You knew he hadn’t called you over for a spontaneous make-out session in front of the Winchesters.  It was just to be close.   That alone made your heart flush with warmth—not mention worsen that liquid heat pooling between your thighs.   You were the definition of hot and bothered right now, settled comfortably in his lap, your arm around his shoulder and the other on your knee, his arms around your waist, his eyes on some ancient text.   Your gaze wandered over his profile, free hand lifting off your knee to idly brush through some of his dark hair.   His hold tightened around you, a hand wandering down the outside of your thigh, squeezing lightly through the skirt of your dress.    You sighed, trailing your fingers down his face, curling them under his chin, swiping your thumb across his bottom lip.   His eyes fluttered, blinking sporadically, then he looked at you.

“Y/N,” he said, gently if not warning.  You pouted but relented, lowering your hand.   You gripped his tie instead, fiddling with it and pressing your temple to his.   You glanced over the text he was reading but it was written in an unfamiliar tongue.   Your prophetic gifts made you fluent in Enochian but nothing else self-translated unless it was blessed.    You just stared blankly at the book while he skimmed it, some nonsensical tome hardly distracting you. 

You turned your gaze down, flipped his tie in your hand.  You traced up the length of it, curling a finger into the knot and loosening it.   You saw the bob of his throat as he swallowed, but he otherwise did not respond.   You loosened the tie a fair deal, enough to unhook the first button of his shirt.  His hand left your thigh and clamped around your wrist.   He turned his head and looked at you, dark glance warning enough.   You stared back innocently and he released your wrist, returning his hand to where it was. 

You refrained from undoing anymore buttons, sufficed to circle them one at a time instead.   Your hand slid a bit lower and, biting your bottom lip, you glanced over your shoulder.   Sam was showing Dean some text, Dean still eating but wearing an admittedly interested look.   They couldn’t care less about you and Cas indulging in a bit of public affection.  There was never an official proclamation made on your relationship— _me and Cas are married, no, you don’t get it, like really super married_ —but it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.   They were accustomed to your little moments. 

You looked at Castiel again, eyes following his furrowed brow, his concentrated expression.  God, you wanted to kiss him so bad.  That bottom lip was just sitting there, begging you to bite it or suck on it or _something_.   But that would be too obvious.   You went for something a little more subtle, if not infinitely more frustrating.

You slipped your hand between your body and his, cupping him through his trousers and finding he was already half-hard.   You felt him stiffen beneath your hand, the sudden attention rousing him.   He looked at you quickly, hand already gripping your elbow—but not very convincingly.   He knew he should remove your hand, but if he was as achy and desperate as you, then your hand there offered some much needed tension relief.   Even if it ultimately worsened everything. 

“Y/N,” he said, tone now scraping.  

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, pressing your thighs together.    “Castiel,” you said with a little sigh, nothing more than that.   

You were careful not to open any prayer when he was away, but he was in front of you right now.    At the moment, his biggest problem was you.   Your sighing, wanting plea opened a prayer.   You imagined Sam and Dean leaving for some unimportant reason, at which point you would climb off his lap and settle on your knees in front of him.   You still hadn’t really done the whole blow job thing but you were hoping to learn soon.   You would need time for that, though, something you rarely had these days.   All the same, a fantasy was a fantasy, and in your fantasy you opened his pants like a skilled professional.   You had barely gotten to the good part, the head of his cock nudging your lips, when he interrupted your daydream by pinching the inside of your thigh.   You yelped, smacking his chest.   He looked at you pointedly. 

“You guys all right over there?”  Dean asked, sounding a little amused.

“Fine,” you and Castiel answered in unison, staring each other down.   You licked your lips and saw him fighting not to look.  He eventually cast his gaze to the text and you huffed.   That tension between your thighs wouldn’t alleviate itself and he clearly wasn’t going to be helpful today.   You could not wait for this freaking case to be over.   You were going to strip him with your teeth and lick every damn inch of him.

Given the look he tossed you, you could only assume the prayer had not ended and he heard that.   You smiled sheepishly. 

“Excuse me,” you said, disentangling yourself from him.   He let you go, immediately tucking his chair into the table.   Probably decent etiquette for an angel with a hard-on, you figured.   You tried not to grin as you waltzed past the Winchesters. 

You made for your bedroom, peeling off your dress the second you entered.   You locked your door and flopped onto your bed.   Kicking off your remaining articles, hands settling where they willed, you sighed Castiel’s name wistfully so he would know exactly what you were doing.  

You were spiralling towards an orgasm, encouraged by the tantalizing knowledge he knew every little detail of your current situation, when there was a loud knock at your door.  You squeaked, freezing, breathing a little harder.

“Yeah?” you asked, voice breaking.   You cleared your throat.  “Hello?”

“Hey,” it was Sam, “Dean just got a call; something’s happened.   We gotta take off and I thought you should know.”

“Oh,” you said, levelling your voice, “yeah, okay, sounds good.  How long will you be gone?”   You hoped it would be short— _God almighty_ , wasn’t this case over yet?  You just wanted Castiel here beside you.  

“A few days probably,” Sam said.  “You okay?”

“Yeah, totally fine!  See you later, Sam!” 

“All right.  See ya, Y/N,” he said, wandering off.   You breathed out, waiting another moment.   Castiel probably thought he was free thanks to that little interlude but once you heard the door slam, indicating they were gone, you whispered his name and finished yourself off.    Afterwards you curled up, smiling to yourself.   You sent a legitimate prayer that this would all be over soon.

-

“You want me to read all of this?” you groaned into the phone, flipping through the book in front of you.   “It’s a million pages, Sam.”

“I know, Y/N, I’m sorry,” Sam replied, sounding quite sincere.  “But I can’t find the information online and that book doesn’t seem to be anywhere but the bunker archives.   Do you think you could read it out loud and I’ll take some notes?  It’ll probably be faster than any alternative.”

You sighed, turning back to the first page of the article.   It had been a couple days and the boys were still dealing with their case.   They were a few states over and lost as ever, hence Sam’s phone call.   He needed you to read out a pretty lengthy article from one of the bunker’s old texts.  It was English, thankfully, but tedious all the same.   Sighing to yourself, you began to recite the article in a monotonous tone.   The click-clack of Sam’s keyboard told you he was doing exactly what he said he would. 

You were halfway through the first page when you heard the familiar flutter of wings behind you.  

“Gimme a second, Sam,” you said.   You pressed the phone to your shoulder so he couldn’t hear.   You turned around and smiled wide at your husband.   Sam was doing research and Dean had gone out for food, so you supposed Castiel took this respite to come and visit you.   You suddenly had very good incentive to hurry up and finish this recitation.

“Are you talking to Sam?”  Castiel asked, like he already knew the answer.   They were probably together before this so he obviously did.   You supposed he was just making polite conversation. 

“Yeah,” you said, “I’ll just be a minute.” 

“Continue,” he said kindly, gesturing to the table.   You were in the library, books strewn across the table in front of you.  Before he entered, you were standing upright and glancing down at the heavy book.   But Castiel was here and that was cause for celebration—and there was no sweeter celebration than teasing your husband just that bit.   You bent over the end of the table, your skirt hiking up a bit.   You were wearing that yellow sundress again and it lifted just tantalizing so, revealing the edge of your panties beneath.   

You pressed the phone to your ear and continued reading.   You wiggled your hips a bit, at least until you slipped into the monotonous recitation and droning clack of Sam’s laptop.   You yawned in the middle of a word, apologizing before continuing.   You read a few more words and then froze, staring at the book while your mind wandered elsewhere.   Castiel had stepped up behind you to slide his hands under your skirt.   They did not roam far, rough palms caressing the outside of your thighs, but it took you by surprise.

“Y/N?” Sam asked.

“Right, uh, sorry,” you said, blushing, a hard habit to quell.   You looked at Castiel over your shoulder, threw him the dark glance he gave you two days ago.   He returned your innocent stare, thumbs tracing circles up your thighs to your hips.   You faced forward again, supposing his actions were not too distracting.   You went back to reading, trying to ignore his hands as they swept back down your thighs.   You squeaked into a word when Castiel’s hands flattened on the back of your thighs and then slid up, curving over your ass, flipping your skirt up completely.   

“Sam, sorry,” you said, starting to push yourself off your elbows, “I just need a sec—”

Castiel’s hand landed in the middle of your back, gently pressing you back down.   He grabbed the phone and pressed it to your shoulder as you had done earlier, then he leaned over to speak low in your ear.

“Keep reading,” he said, hand sliding down your back and returning to your rear.   He traced the edge of your panties and your knees practically knocked.

“Cas,” you began in half-hearted protest, honestly wanting to see where this would go.

“Keep. Reading,” he said sternly, punctuating each word.   You didn’t need to be told twice, swallowing hard before dropping your eyes to the text.   You returned the phone to your ear and cleared your throat.  

“I’m sorry,” you said.   “Where was I?  Let’s see…” 

You kept reading, sputtering when Castiel snapped the edge of the panties against your ass.  He traced the line with his thumb, continued to gently tease your skin without committing to anything dire.  

“Come here,” you heard him say after a moment, “and keep reading.”   

You obeyed, reading as you straightened.   Your skirt fell low again and you almost lamented it.   Castiel’s hands went to your shoulders, tugging on the cardigan you wore over your dress.   You pulled your arm out, placed the phone against your opposite ear to remove the other one.    Castiel took the cardigan and tossed it onto a chair beside him.   He then pushed down the straps of the dress, bra straps following, and wasted no time with placing wet, bruising kisses along your shoulder blade. 

You stumbled over a few words, correcting yourself and trudging on, even when he started nipping at your skin and making an obscene noise or two.   Your breath stuttered but your voice carried.   You licked your lips and only paused when his hand slipped around, tugging on your dress and bra until it lowered to his liking.   He slipped his hand beneath the material and fondled your breast, softly rolling two fingers over a nipple before he pinched it.  You stifled every reaction and stood stock still, at least until he bent you over the table again. 

He flipped up your skirt once more.   To say you felt decadent would be an understatement, your breasts all but spilling out of your dress, pressed against the tabletop, skirt hoisted high so he could run his hand over your panties. 

“You doing okay, Y/N?” Sam interrupted you.  “You’re breathing kinda hard.”

“I’m fine, just tired,” you lied, speaking a bit too quickly.   Cas actually chuckled, a dark sort of rumble, and the sound hit you right between your legs.   You bit your lower lip and pictured Sam shrugging on the other end of the line.

“All right,” he said, “if you’re sure.”

“Yup,” you squeaked, fighting to level your breath when Castiel started to lower your panties.   “Totally fine.   I’m just… I’m just gonna keep reading.”  You launched right into the next line, just wanting to finish with this damn thing.  

Castiel, the sly bastard, had clearly visited for this purpose alone.   This was totally retribution for the prayer thing and Sam needing your help was the perfect excuse.   You bit back a groan and tried not to react as your underwear hit the floor, wrapped around your ankles.  

“Take them off,” Castiel said when you did not move.   It took a second but you did comply, lifting one foot so he could nudge the material aside.  You lifted the other and he kicked them away.   “Good girl,” he said, smoothing his hand over your backside.    His hand ran down your hip and then landed on the table, his other hand following so his arms bracketed you.   He pressed up against you and you stopped reading for a moment, pressing your lips together to fight a sound.   A promisingly hard ridge in his trousers rubbed against your backside.   “Beautiful, tempting wife,” he murmured, stepping back, running his hands down your sides and over your hips.  “You don’t know what you do to me,” he said lowly, fingers trailing down the cleft of your ass.  “But you will.”

You started reading quickly, somehow knowing you would not be permitted to stop.   Plus, it seemed to be the only sound you could expel right now.   You breathlessly slurred your words until Sam told you to slow down and you groaned.   It thankfully fit as a retaliation to his request but it was for so much more.   Castiel slipped a hand between your legs, fingers teasing at the wet heat which had been craving his attention for _weeks_.    You slurred a few more words, bucking your hips as Castiel stroked you slowly. 

“Always so wet for me,” he said, easing a finger inside you.   You breathed a bit harder, continued reading at an uneven pace.   “Do you think about anything but your husband’s cock?”   A small groan found its way into your sentence, mouth barely catching it before it passed.   You shook your head in a cheeky reply to his question but he just chuckled again, that low, dark sound.   You would be happy to take your time with sweet, tender Castiel some other time—for now, you were more than happy to bare yourself to the powerful soldier character, a warrior of the Lord who had dabbled in many dark moments.   

But that didn’t mean you would make it easy.   You still bit back your reactions but then supposed he wanted you to do that, to see you struggling to keep composure, teasing you to a brink as you had done several times now. 

He was thrusting two fingers in and out of you, his other hand running up and down your thigh.   He lifted it to your backside, ran it down your ass and rubbed the flesh while his thumb pressed hard circles on your clit.   Sam asked for a breather because he needed to grab something and you pressed the phone to your shoulder, whimpering as those fingers fucked into you and that calloused thumb drove you wild.   You bucked your hips against him, earning yourself a very light slap from his free hand, right across your bottom.   You yelped, thankful Sam was not listening at this point.   His voice quickly returned though and you groaned again, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Hi,” you said, word falling breathlessly.  Castiel took that as his cue to suddenly stop, very slowly pulling his fingers out of you.   You bit your lip while Sam explained something about the article.    Castiel stepped back and Sam asked you to continue reading.   You did, only stuttering when you heard the soft clink of Castiel’s belt buckle, followed by the whistle of leather and fabric as he pulled it off.   You breathed hard, legs feeling a bit weak, your sex positively dripping with arousal.   You weren’t too sure what to expect, if he was going to start fucking you right then and there, but that did not happen.   You tried to look down when he crouched by your feet, though you had to return your eyes to the text to keep reading.

The article was almost done—at least, it was closer to done than not done.   You fought to keep your voice light.   That flew out the window when Cas grabbed your ankle and tugged, looping his belt around your lower calf and basically lashing you to the table leg.   You looked at him over your shoulder as he stood but he said nothing, shrugging off his trenchcoat and suit jacket.    He rolled up his shirt sleeves, loosened his tie, and still did not meet your gaze, just stared right at your aching sex with a hungry gleam in his eye.  

“Y/N?” Sam’s voice rang in your ear.   You had almost forgotten about him.   You turned back to the text and kept reading, not even acknowledging the odd lapse.   _Just have to finish reading_ , you told yourself, _you can last till then._     

Cas nudged your other leg, kicking it far from the tethered one.   You had to bend over further to support your weight, spread wide, one leg literally tied up and the other locked in place by his.   His hand returned to your needy sex for a moment, thumb swirling over your clit, middle finger pressing inside you.   You read a bit faster, heart likewise racing.   He didn’t seem to be undoing his own pants so you weren’t sure what to expect.   His hand left you and then a second later you got your answer.

“ _Ah_ — _!_ ” the startled sound fell from your lips, something cool and foreign pressing at your entrance.   How Castiel found the time to pick up some kind of weird sex toy, you had no idea.   But you slammed the phone against your shoulder so you could moan, sound breaking into a whimpering sigh as he slid the long, thick object inside you.   He was still for a minute, leaving you spread helplessly wide with something just _sitting_ inside you, not moving at all like you needed.

“You should be reading,” he said, and suddenly twisted the object.   You yelped, bringing the phone back to your lips. 

“Sorry Sam,” you stammered, grasping the book and flipping the page.   Your breath ran ragged as Castiel slowly pulled the object back, halfway out before plunging forward again.  You stumbled over your words and Sam asked if everything was all right.   You ensured him that everything was fine and he told you that you probably needed to rest; you sounded sick.   You told him you would do so right after you finished reading.   You had a feeling Castiel would not be pleased with shortcuts. 

You fought to speak normally while Cas fucked you with the object, sometimes slow, sometimes fast, sometimes turning it, sometimes jerking it.   He changed angles and suddenly it was hitting a spot that absolutely _sang_ , causing you to cry out before shouting that you were okay, reading with feverish impatience.   _Almost there, almost there_ , was the chant in your head, referring to much more than the article.  But you could not enjoy wherever this venture journeyed.   Castiel suddenly stopped, his free hand gripping your thigh, and then he slowly pulled the object out of you.   You pressed the phone to your shoulder again, moaning with shameless wantonness.   He tossed the object onto the table beside you and it landed with a clatter.   Your jaw dropped as you stared at it and then looked at him.

He had seriously just _fucked_ you with the _hilt_ of his angel blade—and that was not a freaking euphemism, just a literal observation. 

He was almost blasé about the entire thing.   He just pulled up a chair and sat down, assuming that position you still found so unbelievably sexy, head propped on his fist and arm tossed over the back of the chair.   He stared at you, his ankle still hooked with yours to keep your legs spread.   Your other foot was not getting free for any reason.   So you stayed like that, completely exposed, trembling with need, shakily finishing the article while your husband stared at you.   You glanced at him for a fleeting moment and almost moaned all over again.   He was palming at his own hardness though he paused, once more draping his arm across the back of the chair. 

“And that’s it,” you finally said, reaching the end of the article.  

“You should probably—”  Sam began, probably some thoughtful remark you didn’t have time for.

“That’s nice, thank you, Sam!  Bye!”   You hung up quickly, all but collapsing onto the table after.   Castiel stood, freeing your leg.   He crouched down to free the other one and you stretched it out, groaning a bit.    Then his arms wrapped around you and he pulled you upright.   Your dress was hanging precariously low but you didn’t care.   Your legs were shaking and if he was not holding you up, your knees would probably buckle. 

But he was.   He held you with such strength and care that you could have cried, moaned, laughed—maybe all three.   He pulled you against him, holding you tight in his arms as he lowered his face to yours and kissed you.   It had been too long since you properly kissed him.   You wrapped your arms around his neck and returned it with all the pent-up passion inside you.   The kiss started passionate and was resolute, heat rising and not diminishing.   You practically melted in his arms, his hands smoothing over your sides, one lifting to your head to brush your hair back.    He just looked at you for a moment, the stare so open and bold that it seemed to rip right through you.  It was every stare you ever dreamed of receiving but doubted you would—that and more.   Then he kissed you again, softer but no less passionate. 

“I am a fortunate husband,” he rumbled, then literally swept you off your feet.   He scooped you into his arms, appropriately bridal-style as he made the manual walk to your bedroom.   You were thankful he did not zap you there; you were still reeling from normal activity, never mind angel activity.   You just kept kissing his face and jaw, giggling when he returned the action and kissed your cheek, nose, eyelid.   You nuzzled your face against his neck and sighed, your arms tight around his shoulder.   He opened the door with a telepathic command and closed it just the same.   You were alone in the bunker but it was habit. 

“Now,” he said, placing you on your feet, “I would… very much… like to make love to you.”  Even if you did sort of giggle at the way he posed it, there was no doubt about it: teaching him that phrase was the best thing you ever did.   Even after that display in the library, it managed to warm you all over again.  

You just nodded, clinging to his shirt as he leaned down and kissed you.   His hands went to the back of your dress to properly unzip it, peeling it down your body and letting it pool on the floor.   You reached back and unclasped the bra because he broke the clasps every time he did it.   His hands went to your breasts the second the material fell away.   Yours went to his tie, unknotting it and pulling it off while he gently kneaded your breasts.   He bent over, kissing down your collarbone and down your breasts while you unbuttoned his shirt.   You tipped your head back, moaning freely and happily as he sucked a kiss over a nipple, rolling the other beneath his thumb.  

“Bed, Cas,” you mumbled, undoing the last button.   He let go of you long enough to pull off his shirt, leaving it on the floor as he took hold of your arm and led you to the bed.   He sat back and tugged you forward.   You expected any number of positions—right on his lap, maybe beside him so he could roll on top of you—but he took you by surprise again.  

Angel strength seeming to momentarily overcome him; you swore you lifted off the ground for an inordinate amount of time.   Then you were on the bed, straddling his hips as he laid down.   Before you could think to do anything, though, he shoved you all the way up so you were kneeling over his face.   You swayed a bit, balance thrown, as his mouth moved over you, licking and sucking and tasting every unsatisfied part of you.  

You leaned back, grabbing his thighs behind you, back arching and a gasping moan on your lips as he ate you out.    He was so strong, holding you in place even while you fumbled behind yourself.   You tried to open his pants from this position, managing with marginal success.   You sufficed to slip your hand into his pants, stroking him through his boxers and delighting in his moan which reverberated through your own body.   Your smile faded as a torturously pleasured expression replaced it.  You bit your bottom lip, groaning, unable to resist grinding your hips downward.   _Fuck_ , but he had gotten good at this.   He was always pretty good but every time was better than the last, learning exactly which spots hit you just right and when.  

You shoved your hand under his boxers, stroking him a bit unevenly until you felt the crest of an orgasm.   You just leaned back on your hands, pressing against his hips and crying out as he delivered you over that precipice.   You would have slumped backward if he hadn’t held you upright.    He slid out from under you, moving you down his body so you straddled his lap again.   He sat up, wrapping his arms around you while you fumbled with his remaining clothes. 

“Just zap them away,” you said, always remembering in hindsight.   He wasted no time.   With a blink, his clothes were gone.   Another blink and you were on your back.   His hand moved under your thigh, drawing your leg over him.   You happily obeyed, hooking your legs around him as he leaned down and kissed you again.   That was all he did for a moment, then he shifted and hooked his arms under your legs, pulling them up a little higher.  You gasped as this opened you up a bit more, and then he was nudging at your opening.   You reached down and helped guide him, biting your lip with bruising strength as he thrust into you.  He held your legs where they were, angelic abilities no doubt soothing your muscles so you remained comfortable.  You tipped your head back, hands weaving into his hair as he expertly worked your body.

After a bit of that, you gently pushed at him.   He understood and moved back, laying down and allowing you to climb over him.   His head landed at the foot of the bed but that hardly mattered.   You straddled him, sunk down on his cock, both of you moaning low again.   You rocked your hips against him, lifted up and then down, swivelled and teased and rode him just right—realizing you had gotten better at this whole thing too.   You couldn’t think of a better person to have shared it with. 

He sat up after a bit, returning your thrusts, his hand between your bodies to help bring you over that cusp again.  You tumbled over it, gripping the sides of his head, your forehead pressed to his and a small sound in your throat.  He made a responding sound, thrusts a little wilder beneath you until he stuttered.   One hand held your waist while the other tangled in your hair, tugging a bit as he finished inside you.   You fell together after that, Castiel laying back.   You were technically upside down on the bed but neither of you paid that mind.   You rolled onto him and kissed him for a moment, knowing he had to re-join the case but enjoying his company for another moment. 

“I’ll return soon,” Castiel said a while later, tucking you into the bed properly.   He was barely dressed, wearing only his boxers, but you insisted anything less was just distracting.   He smiled at you and you smiled back, basking in the warmth of that blue gaze and gentle expression. 

“If this is the greeting I’ll get on every return,” you said, “then take as long as you need.” 

He smiled again, brushing some of your hair back then leaning over to kiss your forehead.  

“Soon,” he said. 

“I’ll think of you,” you murmured, grinning to yourself.   He looked at you like he knew exactly what you were thinking, but he only smiled fondly.

“That’s what I worry about,” he teased, and you just laughed and buried your face in the blankets.  

 


	6. Revelations

That awful, extended hunt eventually drew to a close.   There were always other cases, though.   If it wasn’t a hunt then it was heaven.   You had to share your husband with the world and though goodbyes were never easy, you allowed his departure.   You treasured your time together all the more.     And you knew that if you truly needed him for some reason, he would come if you called.  

Not that you took advantage of this.   At least, your conscious mind did not.  

There was a split second between sleep and consciousness in which nightmares bled into reality.   You woke with a panicked start, Castiel’s name falling from your lips before you realized you were dreaming.   Wings fluttered nonetheless, Castiel appearing at your bedside almost immediately. 

“What is it?” he asked, concerned.   You swallowed and looked at him, a bit embarrassed. 

“Sorry,” you said, “I shouldn’t have called.  It was just a nightmare.” 

You didn’t have nightmares often.   The grotesque and supernatural had integrated itself so thoroughly in your life that very little truly startled you.   That being said, these thoughts sat dormant in your mind.   The only group interested in your harm was an  angel faction, the one set on sacrificing you for that long-ago vanquished ritual.   You didn’t serve a real purpose to anyone else so you were left alone, thus quite safe so long as your marriage shielded you from the aforementioned baddies.   But despite your security, you knew it was a dangerous world.   You had seen things, endured things firsthand, things that most people could not imagine.   

And so, while nightmares were rare, and while they had not bothered you in a very, very, _very_ long time, one occasionally surfaced with memory of darker places. 

“A nightmare,” Castiel said.   Though it was dark in your room, you could still make out his silhouette.   Details came into view when your bedside lamp suddenly flicked on, your eyes closing against the sudden light.    “Are you okay?”  Castiel asked, stepping closer to the bed.  

You pushed yourself upright, rubbing your eyes.   Though you felt comfortable calling on Castiel for any number of reasons, this seemed a bit superfluous.    If he was not at your side then it was because he was doing something important.   You pulled him from that task for a ridiculous reason.  Still embarrassed, you found it difficult to meet his eye.   Your reservation upset him. 

“Y/N,” he said, knees bumping the mattress, he stood so close.   “Tell me what’s wrong.”  

“Nothing,” you said, finally looking at him.   His brow was creased with worry, eyes set on you.   You smiled weakly.   “I’m sorry.  I called you for no good reason.   You were probably busy with something important.”  

He frowned at that.   You looked away, pulling hair in front of your face.   You peered at him through the unkempt locks, watching as he shrugged off his coats.   You looked away when he sat on the bed, loosening his tie.    His shoes and socks were gone but he was still mostly dressed.   It was a little more casual, though, and spoke of the promise to stay.   When he reached for you, you immediately moved into his embrace.   You shoved your face into his chest.  

“You are important,” he said, pushing your hair back, tucking it behind your ears.   “I’ve been a very bad husband if I have not made that clear.” 

“You are _not_ a bad husband,” you said, wrapping your arms around his waist.   “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened.  You’re the one who saved me.”    He kissed the top of your head, arms settling around you.  

“What was your nightmare?” he asked.   He rubbed soothing circles on your lower back.   You hummed a bit, lifting your face.   You placed your head against his chest, gentler.  

“It was, uh, just the… just the angel thing.  From way back.”  

Castiel had found you all that time ago, the Winchesters in tow.   The angels who sought your demise had captured you— _you_ who understood nothing of heaven or angels or prophets.    They had trapped you in some warehouse and accosted you, tying you up as they prepared the beginnings of a ritual.  You endured so much, the in-between moments were blurry.   But Castiel eventually interrupted, taking them out one at a time.   Though the latter half of this story delighted, the former did not.   You were captive for some time and angels weren’t exactly gentle.    They were soldiers on a mission and, because their efforts were already dark, they went a bit beyond their assignment.

You shuddered.   Castiel’s arms tightened around you.  

“You’re safe,” he said firmly, kissing your forehead.   You tightened your own hold. 

“I know,” you said.   “I know.”    You tipped your head back, looking up at him.    He met your gaze, his dark expression softening as he looked at you.   “Will you, uh, will you stay with me until I fall asleep again?” 

“Of course,” he said without hesitation, pressing his forehead to yours for a moment.   You smiled gently, making a surprised noise when he kissed you.   He smiled in return, pulling back, lifting a hand to caress your cheek.    Even after all this time, you still blushed beneath his attentive stare.  

“The best husband,” you murmured, nudging his chin with your nose.   He swept down, kissing you deeply.   You looked at him fondly as the kiss ended.   “You like it when I call you that,” you said, pressing a hand to his chest, idly tracing the shirt buttons.   You undid the first few, opening his collar.    “Why do you like it so much?” you asked curiously, looking at him again.

“It’s not a title I ever thought I would possess,” he said, his fingers running over your shoulder and curving down your arm.   “Marriage is reserved for humans, with few exceptions and rituals.   Ours included.”   He looked at you, his eyes roving your face.  His hand slid to your hip and drew you close.   “It was an unexpected development,” he said, “but one I treasure.   It… _you_ … are very important to me.”   He kissed your forehead, then your eyelid as you closed your eyes.   “Earth is… messy.  Life is troublesome and the burdens are endless.”   He kissed your cheek, the tip of your nose.   “Being your husband, hearing you say it, gives me joy.   Something that seems to be a rare commodity.   But it’s mine.”   He didn’t kiss you, ridiculous tease that he was, so you had to kiss him instead.   He smiled when you parted, touching his thumb to your bottom lip as he stared down at you.    “My wife,” he said. 

“Husband,” you grumbled, a bit sheepishly, embarrassed by his sentimentalities and sweetness.   You buried your face in his chest again.  He held no such embarrassment, happy to prolong the moment.

“Wife,” he said once more.   You giggled, lifting your head.  

“We’re ridiculous.” 

“Maybe.”  He didn’t seem to mind.   He just smiled.   “You should sleep now.”   The lamp faded gradually, the room darkening.   “I’ll stay with you.” 

“Thank you,” you said, yawning soon after.   You cuddled against him, sighing, closing your eyes.  

He kissed your forehead again, wrapping his arm around you. 

* * *

 

It was Dean who suggested date night.   Well, he suggested _get the hell out of the bunker, you lovesick idiots_ night, but it was the same thing.

There was really only one problem with a formal date night: neither you or Castiel had ever been on a date.   Your perpetual singlehood prior to an arranged marriage was no secret.   And Castiel wasn’t even human.  

You were strolling along a boulevard, your hand in the crook of his elbow, but neither of you spoke nor did you have a very clear destination.   Your knowledge of dating habits were mostly limited to Hollywood incarnations.   There seemed to be an awful lot of restaurants and bowling alleys involved.   Nothing sounded appealing.

So you were just walking in silence. 

“This is weird,” you said after a bit.   Castiel looked at you. 

“What is?” he asked.

“We’re just… we’re not doing anything,” you said.  “I feel kinda stressed which is weird.  It’s just _you_.”  You blushed and looked at him.  He smiled, drawing to a halt so you could face each other. 

“What would make you less ‘stressed’?” he asked, genuinely wanting to know.   You shrugged.

“I dunno,” you said.  “The activity doesn’t really matter, I guess.  Dates are just… I don’t know… supposed to be talking about yourself, I guess.   Isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Right.  Well.   We’ll talk then,” you said.   You started walking again, once more hooking your hand around his proffered arm.   “About… something.   That we haven’t talked about before.”   

Forced conversation was odd.  With you and Castiel, every discussion and moment unfurled naturally.   You recalled your wedding night—all hesitant touch and stiff posture.  It wasn’t until he eased you into comfort and allowed a natural moment to grow that any connection was made.   The same proved true here. 

Castiel already knew your life story.   As for his own, you knew as much as could be told.  Heavenly affairs could be abstract to mortal understanding.   Beyond his time on earth, his stories were a bit nonsensical.   You did like when he related his observations of mankind.   Watching had been a duty for very long and he saw interesting things.   It was even more interesting to watch him reanalyze these things in light of his newfound revelations; he was not the same angel he was all those years ago. 

Your story unfolded on a less cosmic scale, but you could claim a similar truth: you were not the same person you once were, but you were glad.    You were even more glad because you could still claim your individuality.   Romance had not stifled you but let you grow in new ways.   The rest of you remained intact.   You still enjoyed your hobbies, still took pleasure in little things, your walks and journeys, details like flowers and ice cream and—

“Have you ever had ice cream before?” you suddenly asked, clasping both hands around his arm.   He shook his head, looking thoughtful.

“No,” he said.  “You know food is an indulgence for me.  I haven’t had much of it.” 

“We should have ice cream,” you said, grinning.   He looked at you and then around.

“I don’t think there’s any ice cream here,” he said, looking a bit confused, wondering where your idea came from. 

“Then let’s go find some,” you said.  “No husband of mine will exist without having tried ice cream.”  

His glance was so incredibly fond.  He gently broke your hold, your hands releasing his arm.   You squeaked with surprise as he put his hand on your lower back, tugging you towards him.   No sooner did your hands clasp the lapels of his trenchcoat did you feel the world flip.   When you opened your eyes and looked around, your surroundings baffled you.  

“Uh, where are we?” you asked. 

“A small town, in the middle of nowhere, as I believe you say.”   He looked incredibly proud of himself. You laughed a bit, shaking your head as you stepped back.    As he said, it was a small town.   The road was a bit dusty but there was something quaint about the surrounding environment.   Your eyes immediately fell to an ice cream shop across the street.   You looked at him for verification.  

“My abandoned search for God once led me here,” he said.  His devastatingly failed search was a story you knew well.   You touched his arm but he looked at you contently, placing his hand over yours.   “I was told their ice cream was ‘to die for’.   I think it must be decent to warrant murderous ideation.” 

“Sounds good to me,” you said, giggling at his comment.   He smiled, leading you across the street. 

A while later, you found yourself on a boardwalk in a different city.   You sat side-by-side on a bench, looking over the sea wall.   It was the edge of sunset here, the air a little cool but manageable.   You ate your ice cream cone, your favourite flavour, glancing at him as you licked the top.   He had no real preference so you ordered him the same flavour.    You told him to order a bowl but he insisted on the same as you. 

But your worries were rightly assumed.   He might have been a celestial force but the ice cream outdid him.   He was trying to lick it before it melted but little trails of ice cream ran down the cone and over his hand.   He looked at it, brow creased, a frown on his face. 

“This is not enjoyable,” he said, then simply tried to bite into the ice cream.  He ripped away a chunk then made a face, swallowing it quickly.   “Nor was that.” 

“You savage, you can’t just _bite_ ice cream,” you teased.   He attempted to lick it again, ignoring the sticky trail running down his knuckles.   You smiled to yourself, tucking a leg beneath you as you turned to face him.   “Here, hold this,” you said, holding out your own cone. 

“Why does yours co-operate?” he asked, still frowning as he took your ice cream with his free hand. 

“Because I eat it properly,” you said, wrapping your fingers around his wrist.   “Here, like this.”  You brought his hand closer, touching your tongue to his skin and drawing a line upward, cleaning the ice cream mark.   He watched you, frustrated glance turning to something else as you lifted your lips.  You placed your mouth against the ice cream and scooped a bit with your tongue.   You swallowed and leaned back with a satisfying sigh, licking your lips. 

“Delicious,” you said, looking at him again.   He smiled a bit.

“I enjoy it now,” he said.  You laughed, taking your cone back. 

“Glad to hear it.”  

You managed to eat your ice cream without further fuss.   He still made a bit of a mess, though you wondered how much was accidental when he held out his hand again.   Your own ice cream finished, you clasped his wrist, quirking an eyebrow.   He passed the cone to his other hand.  His returned expression was perfectly innocent, looking at you over his half-finished ice cream. 

“You’re lucky this is my favourite flavour,” you teased, turning his hand over.   You kissed his palm, turning his hand again and teasingly flicking your tongue against the dip between thumb and forefinger.   He lowered the ice cream, watching you run your tongue along his finger before you kissed the tip.   You looked up at him, batting your eyelashes with exaggerated innocence.   He stared with something headier, less innocent, finger pressing against your bottom lip until you lowered it.   You opened your mouth just enough for his finger to press forward, his body squaring to you as you licked his fingertip, slowly taking it further in your mouth.   You upped the performance a bit, closing your eyes and moaning once his knuckle passed your lips, your tongue rubbing against the digit. 

“Y/N,” he said, voice husky with familiar promise.   You pulled back, kissing his fingertip before diving forward again.  You moved your mouth down, gently nipping his skin, running your tongue back and forth.   He made a low sound, watching you without care for anything else.   You eventually pulled back, looking up at him as you did so. 

“You need to finish your ice cream,” you said, leaning back.  You licked your lips and he looked at you, glance dry and frustrated at once.   You threw him a smile, far too saccharine sweet.  

He ate some of the cone, watching you as he did so.   He then held out what remained and you shrugged, leaning forward to take a bit as well.   As you moved, his hand snaked into your hair, drawing you towards him as you swallowed the ice cream.   Fingers tangling in your locks, he tipped your head and leaned down to kiss you,  lips cool from the evening and ice cream.   The initial chill gave way to warmth, however, the kiss opening to something hotter, his tongue dipping past your lips to swipe the inside of your mouth.   You gently rubbed your tongue against his, breathing a bit shakily as you drew back.  

“You’re not done your ice cream,” you said. 

“I have different tastes,” he said, cheeky tease, starting to draw you back.   You smiled, turning your face so he kissed your cheek.   He groaned a bit, pulling his fingers from your hair, running them over your shoulder. 

“Finish your ice cream,” you said.   “I don’t fool around on the first date.” 

He gave you a look and you laughed, settling against him.   He put his arm around you and though silence fell again, it was comfortable and easy. 

It was _peaceful_ —which should have been an indication of oncoming chaos.   You had been so long sheltered in the security of this marriage, the protection it offered, that you almost forgot what parties could still threaten you.   Heaven was no hazard, nor was any party under heaven’s command, but as you and Castiel began to walk away, he bristled, and you knew _something_ was unfolding nearby.

“Stay here,” he said, slowly pulling away.   You grabbed his arm, looking at him with worry.

“Where are you going?” you asked. 

“Down the street,” he replied, “something is there.” 

You knew he was better off alone.   You wouldn’t be any help in confrontation.   All the same, it was hard releasing his hand.    He disappeared with a flutter of invisible wings, leaving you on the boardwalk with a pit in your stomach.   You waited.    And waited.   And waited.   Anxiety eventually overcame you.   You slowly made your way down the street, in the direction he had indicated.   You took out your cellphone, preparing to call the boys as you inched towards the end of the block. 

An evening lamp flicked on.   No sooner than that did someone grab you, throwing you up against the wall. 

“So _you’re_ what all the fuss is about,” a human snarled, hand clasped around your throat.   You could not tell if it housed an angel or demon.   In the time it took you to panic and kick your leg, Castiel appeared behind your assailant and slammed his hand onto their head.   A burst of white light flamed before you.   You turned your head and let the moment pass, then the body—emptied of a demon, you now knew—crumpled to the ground.   You followed, knees buckling as your feet hit the ground.   You started to fall forward but Castiel caught you, hoisting you upright. 

“I told you to wait,” he said, tone sharp, angry and upset. 

“You were gone a long time,” you replied shakily, looking at the dead body and then him.   “I was worried.”

The wrath in his gaze faded, replaced with deeper grief.

“Are you all right?” he asked.  You noticed his heavy breathing, an action that only occurred when his consciousness fell second to his body.   He was running on instinct and adrenaline, trying to slow down for your sake, but brimming with concern _because_ of you, making it harder.   You fell against him, nonetheless craving the comfort of his presence, and he enveloped you tightly in his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, definitely not wanting to fight, not about this, not right now.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, clearly of the same opinion.    He held you tighter, cradling you against him as he lifted one hand to your hair.   He pushed some of it back, out of your face, his thumb smoothing lines by your ear.   “They couldn’t harm you,” he said, “they were employed by a faction of heaven—meaning they were bound to the same rules.” 

“Heaven is hiring demons now?” you asked, crinkling his jacket beneath your firm grip.

“There are corrupt circles,” he said, “they’ve fallen to desperation but they won’t be a concern much longer.”   He tipped your head back and looked at you, his gaze roaming your face like he was studying every feature.    “Are you all right?” he asked again.  

You nodded but that pit in your stomach spoke differently.   It wasn’t so much the physical assault which paralyzed you, rather the realization behind it.   You spent your time with idle occupations while the boys hunted, while your _husband_ engaged in heavenly confrontations.    Civilian life versus hunter life was a difference you could live with; you were not built to cope with the trials of huntership and you could deal with that.    

But despite every gentle caress and seemingly _human_ moment shared with Castiel, your husband was not human.   There were a thousand moments spent elsewhere, a thousand histories you would never know, depths to him which you could not fathom, and though you could _love_ the parts of him you knew, you suddenly doubted all possibility of true reciprocation. 

You felt human, naïve, young.  That physical slam was second to the emotional one, the realization of how big the world was beyond your safe little pocket.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until Castiel started wiping your tears. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking you over, something miserable in his gaze.   “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you said, sniffling, shaking your head.   “I’m sorry, I just—I forget sometimes.   What you… and how…  and I’m just…” 

“Stop,” he said, a bit gruffly, hooking his arm around your waist.   “We should talk somewhere else.” 

You grabbed onto him, shoving your face into his shoulder and gripping his coat so tightly, your knuckles whitened beneath the strain.   You hiccupped, closing your eyes tight as a brush of wind whipped around you.    You found yourself in an unfamiliar room.   For a moment you just looked around in confusion, distracted with the scenery. 

“Where are we?” you asked. 

“Dean’s orchestrations realized,” Castiel said, looking around the room, himself.   You looked at him curiously.   “He and Sam rented us a hotel room so we’d stay out.”

“Ah.”  

His hands gently fell around your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks.   You blinked up at him. 

“Will you tell me why you were crying?”  he asked.   

The same problems you always had returned, this inability to communicate everything you felt and thought.   You now knew evasion was futile; he inevitably broke past your walls and those confessions always tumbled in a haphazard way.    You didn’t want that to happen this time so you gathered your thoughts, redirecting them into one plain question:

“What do you look like?”  

“I don’t understand,” he replied, brow furrowing.   You gave him a look, hoping it spoke the obvious.   He seemed to understand more than he admitted, and your glance confirmed his suspicions.   His hands dropped to your waist but his grip was loose, his shoulders tense.  “My true form is…” 

“Hard to explain,” you said, voice breaking.   The reply was familiar.  You looked away from him, nodding.   “Yeah.   Yeah, I know.”   

“You can perceive it,” he said, something you did not know.   You lifted both eyebrows.   He nodded, looking contemplative.   “I would not recommend direct contact while you live, but you can.   As a prophet, that ability should be inherent, but our marriage guarantees it so that…” 

“…so that?” you asked, prompting him to finish.   His grip tightened and he pulled you closer, his distracted gaze meeting yours.    

“So that I may find you and be with you when you are no longer on earth.”  

“Oh,” you said, gripping the lapels of his trenchcoat.   “So… eternity is really eternity, huh?”  

“Does that… displease you…?”   He looked more confused than distraught, clearly wondering where all these contradictory feelings were coming from.   You shook your head quickly, easing any menial concern. 

“No!” you exclaimed.  “No, of course not!”

“Y/N,” he said, a little sternly, “please tell me what’s wrong. Why are you asking me these things?” 

“Because,” you groaned, sufficing to press your face into his shoulder.   He wrapped his arms around you, effectively locking you in place.   You sighed, turning your head.    “I’m just _me_.   I’ve always been just me.  Sometimes I remember that and… and I feel like the girl who used to stand around doing Sam and Dean’s laundry, thinking about some guy she wanted that she could never have.   And I know I’ve got… your _grace_ inside me and stuff… and I like that you’re an angel but… I don’t know.   Sometimes I feel like I’m not—that I can’t ever be—”

“My time on earth has not been easy, Y/N,” Castiel said, nudging you backward.    He rolled your jack down your shoulders while moving.   You allowed him to peel it down and toss it away.   Suddenly the back of your legs hit something and you fell, toppling onto the bed behind you.   “Life here is complicated.   Despair, pain, fear… I learned and felt them all in a short time.”  

He removed his trenchcoat and suit jacket simultaneously, laying them on the ground.   You breathed shakily, watching as he moved onto his knees in front of you.  His hands pressed into the mattress, caging your legs.   Your heart beat a little faster though he made no promise of action.  He just knelt, staring at you.  

“For all that darkness,” he said, “there were better things.  Hope, friendship, joy.   But your presence has given me more than my share.   How could you think yourself less than that?  Your humanity is everything I cherish, and I cherish it very much. I am far more undeserving of you than you are of me.” 

“That’s a bit far-fetched,” you said, though admitted to feeling much better.   Castiel’s expression did not change even though your tone jested. 

“It’s not,” he said firmly.  “And you have given me everything.   Your secrets, your stories,” there was a faint smile here and you returned it softly, “your body.”   Said body reacted as if it was unaware until then, tickling heat throughout.    “Your heart, I like to think.”  

“Ah,” you looked away from his face, “you think right.” 

“I don’t have a heart,” he said.  You looked at him strangely.  “A physical one, at least.   There’s one in this body but… that isn’t the point.”  His hands moved onto your knees and he looked at you imploringly.  “I fear my true form may actually frighten you more than anything else, but that is not an issue for today.   If you would have me, though, then I will…”   He trailed off again.   You went to encourage him once more but the flutter of wings interrupted you.   You leaned back, the breath knocked from your body as he revealed his wings—or at least part of them.

There was no perfect description, not in human terms, but their composition was something _chaotic_.    They unfolded like bird’s wings but they glimmered with fire and light, little tendrils of his grace fluttering and hooking in the air, blue and white and something so vivid that you can’t stare for long.   They looked wild and abrasive but smooth at once. 

“Holy…”  You couldn’t manage an expletive.  Castiel smiled a bit.

“Yes,” he said.   You snapped from your trance, snorting at his jest.   You then bit your lip, staring at him for a long moment.

“Can I… uh… can I…?”

“Touch them?” he asked.  You jumped when one dipped toward you.  The fire receded slightly, revealing ivory feathers beneath bluish flame.   “Yes.” 

Your heart definitely raced now.   You reached out very slowly, avoiding the thickest swirl of fire and touching a softer patch.   You gasped as your hand moved right through the flames, their whisper cool, soft, rolling around your hand.   It tickled your palm and you laughed, brushing your knuckles over a feather.   A few of them ruffled beneath your touch, twitching as your hand moved along their length. 

“I’m not hurting you, right?” you asked, looking at his face.   Your hand paused where it was, your expression concerned and curious.  Castiel looked a bit flushed, his eyes locked on your hand.    He swallowed hard, shaking his head in answer to your question.   Your gaze wandered to his other wing.  It slowly wrapped around you, not touching but promising.    You looked at the first again, your fingers still curled.     “They’re beautiful,” you said, opening your hand to smooth your palm over a few feathers.    You almost swore they made noise, though not so literally.  It wasn’t an emission of sound, rather an aspect of _being_.  He was made of light, chaos, and sound, and something a little corporeal for your human touch.

“They’re me,” he simply said.  “Though much smaller in this form.” 

“How big are they usually?”

“Very,” was all he said.   You smiled, throwing him a teasing look.

“Sounds sexy.” 

He smiled at that, hands moving up your legs and settling on your waist.  He drew you closer, his free wing wrapped around you completely.   You shivered, fists instinctively clenching, closing around feather and flame.   He grunted, thumbs pressing into your hips.  

“This is as intimate as you can truly be,” he said, voice falling into a dark, husky scrape.  It slithered from head to toe, warming you all over.   “You understand, I would not share this with you if I felt anything less than love for you.”   You couldn’t even speak, overwhelmed by every word and touch.   His bruising thumbs stroked softly now, his eyes on your face while yours roamed his wing.   “It is something to _feel_ ,” he said thoughtfully, quietly.   You looked at him again, heart melting. 

“I love you too, Cas.  I mean,” you laughed, “that’s probably obvious.  And I don’t have wings to show you, but I’ve never said that to anyone before so…”

“…so?” he prompted.  You smiled.  

“So you’re special, you loser.” 

“That’s unkind.”  He smiled nonetheless,  then looked serious.   “Never doubt me in this matter,” he said.  “You should not feel less important than you are.  I am your husband before anything else.  That was my promise.” 

“Promise,” you muttered.  Most of the wedding ceremony had escaped you.  You researched it later but you weren’t entirely sure of the vows sworn, at least beyond the obvious _I will marry you and not cheat on you._    “What were our promises?” you asked, more curious than anything.    He looked surprise at this question.

“You understand Enochian fluently,” he said.   “Do you not remember?”

“I understand normal Enochian,” you replied, a bit dryly.  “It was a bit too twisted and flowery for me to follow along.”

“I see.”    His wings suddenly spread behind him and you snatched your hand back, startled.   His hands covered yours, bringing them to his mouth to kiss lightly.  He placed them back in your lap, keeping his hands atop them.    His wings lowered, folding almost demurely.  You tipped your head, watching in wonder.   “An angel bound in matrimony to a human… is a significant thing,” he said.   “My Father made you in His image.   From their conception, humans have been our mission.  When I swore myself to be your husband, and you my wife, it was intended to be an unprecedented.  And because humans are inherently favoured…”   So much trailing off tonight.   You tipped your head.   His hands moved up your arms, towards your elbows, then  fell to your hips again.   “Y/N, I am yours.” 

Those words were heavy, carrying promise beyond their simple recitation.   You heart skipped a beat, your eyes roaming this incredible being who knelt in front of you and called himself yours.  

“Oh,” you said weakly, reaching for him.   You touched the side of his face, gently stroking your thumb over his cheek.   He leaned towards your touch, his heated gaze never leaving your face.   “I hope that’s a nice thing to be,” you said, at a loss for decent replies.   He smiled nonetheless.

“It is,” he said.   His hand covered yours, lifting it from his face as he turned his head.   It was his turn to kiss your palm.   He closed your fist, pressing his lips to your knuckles before lowering your hand to your own lap.   “If you will permit it, wife,” he said, straightening, “I would very much like to demonstrate that worship.”

“Cas,” you said with a small giggle, laughter replaced with a surprised squeak when he suddenly stood, practically shoving you up the bed.   You gasped, the breath scarcely past your lips before he moved over you, catching your mouth in another warm kiss.   He pressed you into the mattress, his hands high at your sides, one of your legs between his.   His wings disappeared but you were distracted anyway.  He reached down, hands sliding beneath your body, then he repositioned himself to kneel between your legs.   He sat upright, leaving you breathless, blinking up at him as you tried to process the past few seconds. 

“Oh,” was all you managed, a simple syllable that kept returning.  Castiel smiled, much too knowingly.  You smiled as well, biting your bottom lip.  Your hands sat beside your head, turning to grip the sheets as his hands went his shirt.   He unknotted the tie, sliding it from his collar and dropping it to the floor.   You watched its descent then looked at him, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt and removed that next.    You made a small, content sound, touching your tongue to your lip to soothe it from your bite.  

He bent over you, gaze darkening.   One hand landed beside your head while the other went to your face, his thumb smoothing over your bottom lip.   You parted your lips, nipping at his thumb, smiling when he did.   He replaced his hand with his mouth, kissing you slowly.  You tried to deepen it but he refused, catching your hands in his and pressing them into the mattress.   You shifted beneath him, needing so much more.   His kiss was hot, wet, gradually deepening, but torturously slow.   He turned his head a bit, licking your bottom lip, but then he went right back to his leisurely kiss. 

“Cas,” you groaned, breaking from him long enough to say that.   He kissed you again, a short peck, once, twice, three times.  Then he moved down your body, gathering the hem of your shirt as he did so.   He pushed it up and you helped remove it, not particularly caring where he threw it.   You unhooked your bra and he drew it off, tossing it wherever he did the shirt.   Then he was in your arms, chests pressed together, kissing you deeply, with greater fervour than before.   He bit your lip before pulling away, once more moving lower.

“I have said it many times before,” he murmured into your skin, kissing along your collarbone and down between your breasts, “but you will have what you want.” 

“You,” was your reply, breathing the word, “always just you.”  Your words became a nonsensical sound, hands moving into his hair as he closed his lips around a nipple, lavishing attention to your breasts with soft kisses, licks, and bites, his rougher hand filling the spaces between.   He moved down your stomach to the waistband of your pants, making short of work of the button and zipper.   Your pants were halfway down your thighs when you thought of something, grabbing him by his hair and lifting his head. 

“Cas, you didn’t check us into the hotel,” you said, fighting laughter.   He frowned.

“is that entirely necessary?”

“You know it is.  Oh my god, go!  Really quick!   We can’t just take the room!” 

“But Dean confirmed it was this room number—”

“They need to know we’re here!  What if they send up a cleaner or try to give the room away when we don’t show up?” 

“Y/N,” he groaned unhappily.  You laughed, pushing him up. 

“Doesn’t always pay to use your wings and make shortcuts, huh?” you teased.   He glared in good humour, kissing you quickly on the mouth before climbing off you.    He picked up his shirt and with a flick of his wrist, it was back on his body.   It wasn’t so easy to erase the bulge in his pants.   You tried not to giggle, leaning on your elbows and watching him adjust himself.   He threw you an exasperated look and you flopped back, covering your mouth to stifle laughter.    

“I’ll be back,” he said gruffly.   He disappeared with a flap of his wings, likely manifesting in the lobby downstairs.   Still grinning, you climbed off the bed and removed your remaining clothes.   You spent a moment gathering some of the scattered clothes, placing his trenchcoat and suit jacket on the back of a chair.   Your own were placed on the desk, his tie atop them.    You then went to the door, opening it enough to hook the _do not disturb_ sign on the handle.   You closed the door, locking it again.   Your hand was still on the knob when you heard the flutter of wings.   It was followed by the quick thump of his shoes as he kicked them off, bare feet padding towards you.  

“That was fast,” you said, turning around to face a very impatient husband. 

“Not fast enough,” he replied, grabbing you before another word was spoken.  His mouth silenced any surprised word.   He lifted you off your feet, all but slamming you into the door.   You made a sound into the kiss and he leaned back momentarily.   “I’m sorry,” he said, one hand moving behind your head.

“Don’t be,” you said with a smile.  He returned it, pressing your head down so you kissed him.   Both his hands went to your waist while yours went to his pants, opening them and shoving them down.   Once his boxers and pants hung low enough to free his cock, you started unbuttoning his shirt.   He wasted no time, hands beneath your thighs as he slid inside you.   You gasped into his kiss, fingers pausing halfway down his shirt as he started fucking you right there against the door.  

“ _Ugh_ , I love you so much,” you muttered, speaking against his mouth.   He kissed you then moved his mouth along your jaw, flicking his tongue against your earlobe before speaking low. 

“I assure you,” he said, “the feeling is very much mutual.” 

You somehow managed to pry open his shirt, shoving at it until he held you differently, changing the angle of his thrusts slightly, enough that your head fell against the door and a cry left your lips.   You spoke his name, his shirt halfway down his arms, his hands under your knees and your bodies pressed together.   You couldn’t move yourself in this position but he managed just fine, one hand sliding under your thigh and curving around your rear.   You groaned, shoving your hands into his hair.  He looked positively wrecked, clothes hanging in disarray, hair frenzied from your fingers and lips swollen from kisses.  

You could only focus on that so long, however.   His wings slowly formed behind him, then wrapped around both of you.   You cried out as they brushed your naked body, absolute ecstasy washing from head to toe at the intimate caress.   Then they supported you, enough that his hand was put to better use.   He lowered it between you, touching you where you needed and bringing you over the edge with a few well-timed circles on your throbbing clit.   You moaned raggedly, eyes closing, tips of his wings whistling through your hair and over your skin.   You wrapped your legs around his waist tightly, clenching around his cock and drawing him right over that same precipice.   He pressed his face into your shoulder, suddenly biting down while pitching his hips. 

You swore your ear were ringing by the time things slowed down.   He lowered your legs, placing you back on your feet.   Your stance was a bit shaky but his wings held your shoulders, keeping you upright.   You sighed, slumping against the door.   You expected him to relocate to the bed, giving you a breath before anything else happened. 

Instead he dropped to his knees in front of you, kissing his way up your thigh.  

“Castiel…” you gasped, your hand finding his hair.   You looked down at him, panting.   “What are you doing?”

“You know what I’m doing,” was his cheeky response, his mouth so close—

You made a high-pitched sound, breaking into a whimper when he grabbed your leg and hooked it over his shoulder.   His mouth settled over you, clever tongue working you with familiar skill.   You bucked against him, everything sensitive and achy.   The thought of another orgasm was almost agonizing, but tantalizing.   And Castiel always knew how to bring you there, no matter how your sensitive sex protested.   You were close again in moments, sliding down the door. 

It was then his hands moved under you, wings fluttering.    You were on your back in a moment, laying on the bed with Castiel between your legs.   You tipped your head into the mattress, groaning when his quick actions slowed considerably.

“Castiel,” you groaned, tugging at his hair.  It didn’t deter him.   He licked upward, looking at you as he did so.

“I want to enjoy my wife,” he said and _god_ , you could have come from that alone.   He ensured you did not, drawing out every motion until you were an untethered mess.    Only then did he allow you to come, definite stars in the black as you closed your eyes and rode his face through your orgasm.    You lay there afterward, blinking up at the ceiling, breathing hard.   “So beautiful when you come for me,” he murmured, kissing your inner thigh before sitting up.  

You lay there, just watching as he removed his shirt again.   You looked down and groaned when you saw he was hard again, having had ample time during that last session.   He removed his remaining clothes then ran his hand along your leg, up your hip, over your breast.   You shivered, watching as a wing lowered around you, following the same path.   Your faint tremor became a full-bodied shudder, heavy-lidded eyes turning up to his wings.  

“You feel so beautiful,” you murmured, sighing when a tendril of blue flame danced over your cheek, feeling like the soft kiss of cool wind.  

“I’m glad you feel that way,” he said, head of his cock pressing at your entrance.   The caress of his wings had eased the fire in your body, but you still made a noise of tortured pleasure. 

“Cas—”  You couldn’t even finish his name, breaking into a wordless breath as he filled you again.  He bent over you, kissing the corner of your mouth.  

“Y/N,” he spoke your name around a faint moan.  You opened your mouth beneath his, letting him kiss you again.    You pressed your knees against his sides, breathing raggedly against his lips as he rolled his hips against yours, thrusting into you.   The light of his wings seemed to slide all around you, kissing your skin, warming you and cooling you at once.   There were so many sensations, you could only passively receive everything for a moment.   Then you summoned your own senses and began to meet his thrusts, not so delirious but certainly caught in the moment.  

You both collapsed with a moan when he came inside you, his body weighing heavy on yours for a time.   He eventually moved over, drawing you into his arms and holding you there.   His wing wrapped around you, light and sound running over you with no clear pattern. 

“This is me,” Castiel said, his eyes on a wing.   You followed his gaze, watching the amazing sight.   “That is clear desire,” he continued, “for you.   Only you… and always you.” 

You closed your eyes for a moment.   You remembered a time when you believed all hope of this was impossible.   You doubted the realization of an epic romance, but here you were in the throes of one.  And it wasn’t epic as you once thought it defined; great whirling stories of horrible pain, tears, anguish, filled with broad declarations of love that redeemed the dark moments.   Those things existed, but in smaller portions.   So it wasn’t so epic, after all. 

But you realized this was much better.  

His wings wrapped around you, his arms thrown over you, his lips against your forehead—that was all you needed.   A soft assurance, no great declaration, a quiet promise of eternity, his grace wound to your soul, and happiness. 

“Thank you for saving me,” you mumbled, “all that time ago.”  Thinking about beginnings could frighten, but not tonight.  Nightmares were far from mind as you fell asleep.  

He muttered something into your hair.  All you heard was _my wife_ , the rest of the sentence foggy, but you supposed it could wait for when you could listen.    You fell asleep tucked against him, his wings closing around you and holding you near. 


	7. Blue and Gold

“Oh my _god_ ,” you say, mere moments after dying—sitting in heaven and you already blaspheme.  Something like fondness curls in the film of his being, slithering down every wisping stem of his essence.   The sensation tickles the underside of two faces, a curl of a smile on one head. 

“No,” he says, the sound on the tips of his wings as he brushes them over you, “just me.”

You’re very small next to him.   A human soul is no bigger than the human that was,  but yours is blown wide, augmented by his grace.   It has melded into your being like something that always belonged there.   Your soul is thus _small_ and not _miniscule_ in comparison.   If he was human and you a subject, you’d look like a doll in his hand. 

But neither of you are either thing.   He’s chaos and light and sound, rendered to something tangible in this odd dimension, with three heads and two arms and two legs, and blinking eyes running the length of every limb.   Two vast wings stretch behind him, greater versions of what he showed you long ago on earth.   The winding blue flames which circled ivory wings now cover the expanse of his back.   It licks around him and sometimes looks more like water than fire, and you might swear it reflects starlight like quiet waters under open sky. 

You are warmth and sound, golden and soft next to his whirling blue fire and white light.  You best resemble a single flame, yellow and flickering, but your own being slowly bleeds through, even in this divine place.   Your soul begins to manifest to a human face.   

You’re perched before him in a garden which revolves underfoot.   You sit on a branch—it’s the only thing that sits still.  

“Oh, Castiel,” you say, “there is nothing _just_ about you.”    Golden colours slip around you like a translucent gown as your body takes shape where you sit.   You tip your head and look at him quizzically, glowing gold eyes roaming his form.    You look directly at his middle head.    “Is there a face under there?” 

“No,” he replies, that same fondness slipping through him.   “That is my face.” 

“ _Oh_.”

His middle face appears to have a veil draped over it, a vague shape of a human head beneath it.   Of course, there is no _beneath_ or _atop_ , that is simply his entire face.   On its left sits the face of a bird.  It’s no specific bird as it seemingly changes at every angle.    On the right sits the head of some wild cat, something like a panther with thicker and coarser hair, though coloured brightly as the rest of him, and likely softer than it looks.   Other than the endless eyes, his arms and legs extend as a human’s might, albeit connected to a much bigger and stronger body shape.    It must be to support those wings.  

“Do I please you?” he asks.   He moves onto one knee in genuflection, and even though you sit at a very high vantage, it only _just_ puts you at eye level. 

Your body has taken its full shape now, its outward age the same as the day you married.  The translucent gold sheet still wraps around you and the iris of your eyes remain gold in colour.   Other than that, you are familiar where he knows he is not. 

But you smile and lean forward, looking him over. 

“Yes,” you say, “very much.”  

He lifts a hand to where you sit, placing it against the tree and not you.   It’s a timid offering for you to touch him if you like.  Considering he could easily crush something your size in one hand, he knows better than to suddenly grab at you like a plaything.   He won’t hurt you, but it could startle you. 

You stare at his fingers for a moment.   His hands are somewhat human-shaped, and the eyes running down his arm end at his wrist, but something fiery seems to run over his knuckles, and his nails are more claw-like than any human.   For a moment, you just stare, then tentatively reach out and lay your whole palm against him.   When you make contact, wires of gold shoot up beneath your hand, running along his form like veins.   You snatch your hand back with a yelp, looking at him in concern. 

“It is all right,” he says, inching his hand closer.   “That is how we are.” 

He sees your understanding.  As his grace fills you, so does your soul fill him, bound from the celestial consummation which marked you as husband and wife.   

The golden threads fade and you place your hand to him again.  There is a faint pulse where they show again, but it disappears even as your hand remains.   You smile, running your hand back and forth.  

“You sound different here,” you say, looking up at him.   “But it’s pretty.”  

Pretty is probably an understatement.   He shifts so he kneels completely before your tree, each head fixated on you. 

“This is how Enochian should sound,” he says.   You look bemused again.

“Are you speaking Enochian?   It just sounds like—”   You don’t continue; you _can’t_ continue.  Sound is just sound, as redundant as that thought is.    You shrug.   “Am I speaking Enochian?”

“No.  You can if you wish.” 

“That’s good to know.   I guess.”   You are not capable of blushing here.  There is no blood in your body-like form to alter it.   But he wraps his second hand beneath the branch you sit on, and there is open affection in his many gazes.

“Your cheeks pinken often,” he says.   You touch your face as if a blush sits there. 

“What?  No, they don’t!”  You smile before the protest ends.  “Yes, they do,” you confess.   You’re thoughtful for a moment, looking away.   You look at him when you speak again.   “You told me I would be scared of your true form.”  

“I thought it might frighten,” he says.  “I am pleased it does not.”  

“Me too,” you say with a warm smile.   “But I don’t think I could ever be scared of you.” 

“I thought you were,” he says, one of his head ducking in shame, “once.”

“What?”  You have never heard this story and you look at him confusedly.  There are traces of amusement on your face, however, as you see him recoiling with embarrassment.   Angels should not feel embarrassment—but then, they should not feel many things he does.     “What do you mean you thought I was scared of you?  When?” 

“In the beginning.”

“Tell me.” 

He does. 

He remembers the warehouse where he first found you.   Until that night, he had not even realized a new prophet existed.   A gang of corrupted seraphim must have activated one, their dark purpose immediately clear as Castiel followed their trail. 

Though he never received a clear explanation of how he came upon their trail at all.  They had quieted your prayers, preventing you from reaching anyone no matter your efforts.   But a whisper somehow reached him, transferred across cosmic wavelengths without explanation, planted right in his head so he might find you. 

Castiel set on the mission by himself.  He would not burden the Winchesters with an endeavour beyond them.   They were already crippled by an obvious misery, memories of past failures.   Castiel felt much of that, feeling it beneath the skin of his vessel as it bled into his very being.   Responsibility, disappointment, heartbreak, and a terrifying despair if he failed that day. 

Such unending chaos, unending hurt.  

Only two angels held you in captivity, awaiting a summons from their superiors.   Castiel easily vanquished one but released the second, not wishing for more bloodshed.   The angel taunted him for his sentimentalities, but even then Castiel ignored him.   Only when he saw how you had been treated did he reel.   When the angel came at him again, he finished the mutilated shadow of divinity.   He mentally recited but one lament, that for the human vessels not spared.

Then he was at your side, helping you from your frightened position.   You had curled in on yourself, protecting your body from further injury.   The damage done looked worse than it was, though the shock of it all had broken you.   Castiel touched you very carefully, even then you cried out in protest and tried to break from his arms.  

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised, though his gruff voice may have startled you. He slid his hands past your protesting fists and cupped your cheeks, allowing a remedy to spread through your body.   

Your panic settled, bliss falling with the physical relief.   When he touched his hand to your mouth, healing the sensitive injuries more directly, you groaned into his palm—a very pleased moan that rumbled down an unfamiliar nerve. 

“Is that better?” he asked when it was completed.  

You slumped against him, all but collapsing in his arms.   He remained on his knees, your body slanted against his, but he looked down when you looked up.

“Thank you,” you said, spoken with such sincerity.  He felt a thrum of something like affection.  You had placed unabashed trust in his presence.  It felt _good_ to feel the embrace of someone who thought him unremittingly pure of character, a protector as he should have been.   He had failed in many regards but your gaze perceived someone who had not.   

But it did not last.

Time saw these sentiments flitter away.   And for the best.   It was wrong of him to indulge in good feelings for the sake of their simplicity.   Nor did he deserve it, anyway.   

Castiel observed your nature in the bunker, your demure character giving way to someone more boisterous once you were comfortable.   But you were never comfortable around him.   While you welcomed Sam and Dean into your circle, Castiel read your distance as fear.   A wall stood between you and him so he remained dutifully behind it, even if a bitter and jealous sting affected him.   He had found you and helped you, had been the first to hold you, but it was others who reaped the benefit.   But he quickly quelled those thoughts; you were an individual and deserved greater respect than such crude thinking.   It was not his place to _gain_ anything.  

And, truly, it pleased him to see you so happy.  To see the Winchesters so happy.   

He recalled a particular visit to the bunker, early in your stay.   He materialized in the library but found it empty.   There was a scuffle echoing down the corridor, laughter and shouting and iron clattering.   Curious, Castiel ventured forth.   He followed the sounds to the kitchen where he stopped in the doorway.   His eyebrows lifted as he looked on in surprise.   

The room was completely upside down.  Pots and pans were littered across the floor while dishcloths  were suspended from lighting rigs.  Vials of food colouring stained the floor in multi-coloured patterns and it looked as though a bakery had exploded at the centre table.  

You were in the middle of it, the Winchesters as well.   You were hurling flour at one another, forgotten dough sitting on a cutting board.  All three of you were washed in white flour.   Castiel turned the corner just in time to witness Dean pouring a bowl of chocolate mix over Sam’s head. 

“ _Dean_!” Sam hollered. 

You were beside yourself in hysterics, draped over the table and laughing.   The brothers became occupied with wrestling each other, smacking one another with flour and bits of dough while you watched and laughed to your heart’s content.  

Though Sam and Dean were vastly amusing, Castiel found his gaze straying.   He looked at you though you had yet to notice him.   Your smiles always compelled him to watch longer. 

He admitted there was a race to his bloodstream, albeit beyond control.   A warmth spread across his chest and for a moment he remained there, standing in the doorway and looking at you.   Your hair fell from its messy up-do, caked in sugar and flour, your cheeks powdered white and a streak of pink icing across your forehead. 

It was incredible to think you were the same girl once curled on a basement floor, a stranger to all three of them.  How much had changed and yet how much had not.   You were still more stranger than friend despite the growing desire to change that completely.   He wished to speak with you, wished to make you laugh as you laughed now, and because he was an unfettered excuse for angel, a patchwork creature felted of heaven and human, he could not help but admire your smiling lips and kicking legs, the wiggle of your hips and curve of your figure as you bent over the table.  

It was the first time his thoughts of you wandered to carnality—but not the last.

As he relates this chapter of his story, you slide to the edge of your branch to look at him better.   His wings have wrapped completely around the tree, one hand gripping your branch and the other holding the trunk.   He pauses in his account to asses you, wondering of your intentions.   You look at the ever-changing ground and then at him. 

“Can you hold me?” you ask.

He eagerly offers his hand, having been waiting for you to ask such a thing.   You drop into his hold, not even blinking as you let yourself fall.  He catches you then sits back, allowing you to walk over his hands.   You move onto your hands and knees, bending over to look at the eyes on his arm.   Then you sit back in his palm and look up at him, smiling.  

“Continue,” you say. 

He does so, perhaps with a greater strain now that you are in proximity.   And, of course, his story unfolds with more decadence than any angel should hold. 

One day he happened to appear in the kitchen just as you bent right over, unwittingly flashing him a sudden view up your dress.    He didn’t move for a moment, taken back.   He hadn’t braced himself for that.   When he realized what was happening, he panicked, flying from the room.   He aimed for the library and succeeded—at the cost of smashing right into the table.   He toppled a chair and almost took himself down.  

You came running into the room, the skirt of your dress billowing. 

“Castiel,” you said, already flushed.   You seemed embarrassed.  Did you _know_?   Did you know that he invaded your space and then _remained_ there while you unknowingly revealed your more private attributes?  

“Y/N,” he said after a moment.   “Are Sam and Dean here?” 

He knew they were not.   He meant to check on you.   You had been alone in the bunker for over a week.    

You shook your head, looking at him a bit strangely.  You were too polite to question his odd behaviour. 

“No, they’re—”

“Oh,” he said quickly, “I apologize.”

He promptly fled the scene. 

He fought to return to his previous state, a simpler state.   He liked to hear about you.   He liked to see you.   He liked the things he learned, your stories and habits, and there were other things he wished to discover.  Granted, he learned these things second-hand, through Sam and Dean.  But he enjoyed them nonetheless.   It was a fond acknowledgement, a tender affection.   An innocent curiosity.    Nothing more. 

And then he joined the Winchesters on a hunt, waiting in their motel room while they dined elsewhere.    He turned on the television, idly flipping stations.   He momentarily thought of you, wondering if he should check on you.   Perhaps not.    He continued surfing the television instead, always a bit curious to see what he might find. 

He froze after flicking to a pornographic channel, blinking at the screen.   His usual reactions were absent, a derisive glance or quirked eyebrow.                                                    His first foray into pornography had been baffling, to say the least.   He understood the concept of intercourse but the details of certain partnerships escaped him.    Those details were clarified but didn’t make particular sense.   After that, he had a low regard for most of it.   

It was still quite farcical but his vessel grew taut, human senses overpowering his angelic ones.   It was a faint sensation, gradually evolving.   It was difficult to reverse.   Especially with his eyes locked on the screen.  

It just—it so happened to be that this particular actress resembled you in a certain fashion.   His thoughts would not have strayed had the scenario been different.  But this unfortunate coincidence was very difficult to shake.  

The woman tossed her head back, a cry of ecstasy on her lips.   Castiel thought of laughter, another human response, and suddenly matched the two expressions.   A poor development, honestly.  He could now imagine such an expression on your face, lips pink and upturned with a delirious smile.   Ecstasy—

He turned off the television when the Winchesters stumbled back in.   They didn’t notice anything but Castiel excused himself, reappearing a block away.   He felt the evening breeze, his vessel alerting him to every sensation.   He peered through a narrowed perception, down at his own body.   This was not the appropriate time to become aroused.  And certainly not the appropriate reason.  

After that night, it did occur him that he should better understand these responses and ideas if he wanted to overcome them.   And he really needed to overcome them.   

The next time he visited, he recalled his previous thoughts and felt something like shame.   You would be appalled if you could hear his musings.   Not only did every thought once exist but they _lingered_.  

He may have tuckered through a moment with you, had you not wandered into the library wearing nothing but a long t-shirt.   You clearly just rose from sleep, something so natural and human, your body rolling through its cycles.   A body which made him very aware. 

Needless to say, a whole slew of thoughts piled on him at that one moment—your skirt lifting as you bent over, a breathless moan on your lips, your head thrown back in ecstasy, and you nestled in your bed with a simple garment wrapped around your body.    

“Castiel?” you asked.   “What are you doing here?” 

“Looking for Sam and Dean,” he lied, careful to stand behind a chair.   The last thing he needed was you seeing was his traitorous cock protesting at its material confines.   He stood very still, breathing.   Not breathing in any particular fashion, but _breathing_.

“They went out,” you replied.

“Oh,” he said.   “I’m sorry if I disturbed you.  Goodbye.”

“Uh, bye—”

He tried to detach you from his thoughts as he researched humans and their oh-so vast sexual escapades.   You may have inadvertently encouraged this venture, but he only embarked upon it so he could better understand it.   The more he knew, the easier it would be to divest himself of it.   

He actually thought himself a decent success, not once debasing himself to any human level.   His vessel didn’t enjoy his purposeful avoidance, but he learned to control its urges. 

At least until visiting yet another day.   Sam and Dean were gone and he was checking in, but he couldn’t find you anywhere.   He strolled the halls and paused as he neared your bedroom.   He would not just waltz in, obviously, though he did freeze when he heard noise inside.   He stepped a bit closer to the door, brow furrowed.  For a moment it sounded like you were in pain and he almost knocked.

Then he realized. 

He stood still, feeling a physical drop as his vessel tightened around him.   You were moaning in _pleasure_ , bedsheets rustling beneath your moving body as you so clearly pleased yourself on the other side of that door.   Castiel leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling very heavy.   He furrowed his brow and looked down, almost groaning at how quickly his vessel had hardened.   Was he so weak a creature after all? 

He pushed away from the wall, moving to the other end of the corridor.   He leaned back, flexing his fingers.   He contemplated leaving, perhaps going to heaven, but he couldn’t find the willpower.   His blood was pumping hotly and it all moved south, his cock almost _hurting_ with how desperately hard it was, trapped in his clothes.    He did eventually manage to fly, but he only made it to a bathroom on the other side of the bunker.   

He all but collapsed against the counter, with a ragged groan submitting himself to the habits of humans.   He opened his belt and then his pants, breathing out in relief when he pushed his hand down and freed the frustratingly needy erection which waited there.   He clutched the edge of the counter, panting but otherwise keeping his volume down.   He made a few half-hearted attempts to clear his mind, moving his hand over his cock in the appropriate fashion.

It was no use.   When he came, your image was plastered everywhere in his mind.   He recalled you moaning into his hand that day you met—morphing into a mental image of you sprawled beneath him, similar noises tumbling from your lips as you spread your legs and called him to you. 

After cleaning up, he simply flew from the bunker and did not return.   He didn’t visit you when you were alone anymore.   Clearly, he had to keep his distance.

“I can’t believe you never told me that,” you say now, sprawled across his hand and looking up at him.   His heads have turned aside but he directs them to you, eyes likewise blinking in your direction. 

“I thought it might embarrass you,” he says, a cord of blue flame twining from his wing, teasing at your body.   You laugh, squirming as you roll away.   He holds you carefully.   

“It would have then,” you admit, “but I think I would have liked it.” 

“I know,” he says, a second strand of his grace dancing over you.   This time you lean toward it, humming contently as it caresses you.   “I know very well the things you like.”  

You would be blushing again if you could. 

“What about when we married then?” you ask, laying on your stomach.  You prop your chin in your hand and kick your legs, tipping your head as you look at him.   “Were you happy when you found out we had to get married?” 

“If I ever was, it caused guilt.”

“Guilt!  Why?”

“I thought you disliked me,” he replies.  “I thought you feared me.   It would be selfish to feel happiness at the arrangement if it would upset you.”

“It made me happy,” you say softly.   You rest your head when more of his grace rolls over you, covering you sweetly.  

“A fact I soon realized,” he says. 

He remembers your wedding night very well.   He had been so concerned with hurting you, and then you revealed you were a virgin he felt even _worse_ for intruding on your potential life.   It was not until he had you beneath his hands did he begin to wonder if he had been a fool.   Your body responded keenly to his touch, and he saw you fighting to stifle your gasps.   It could not be contained for long, your hips lifting so he would slide his hand beneath you, a tremble in your body as he touched you and felt how you desired him.

Then you were on your back, willingly spreading your legs as you encouraged his advance.   He settled over you and wondered.  He recalled your reactions the first day you met.   You were rattled from your ordeal so he never blamed you  for your hesitancy.   But as he looked at you then, pink-cheeked and shy and embarrassed, unable to meet his eye as you shifted beneath him, he wondered if that held true once before.   Perhaps you did not move away in fear, perhaps you did not avoid his gaze in worry.   Perhaps his own infatuation had commenced that day.   Perhaps you reciprocated.   

_Perhaps_ was a heavy word, saturated with so much possibility, yet he found its use persistent.   For perhaps it was preposterous to imagine any sort of infatuation rooting so early in a story, yet he supposed everything had to start somewhere.  

He was so used to chaos and catastrophe, to the sinister and ugly.  He knew all about small problems snowballing into cataclysms of unmatched proportion.   He never thought something which in itself was quiet and affectionate could begin somewhere even smaller and blossom softly.   He wouldn’t know how to proceed much further.   In heaven, there was only the Will and the Way.   On earth, there was only pain and, if not pain, worry for the next mission.   He was the perpetual soldier. 

 It was unusual to feel himself falling into something brighter. 

As his body had almost entirely overcome his senses, he had mere scraps of grace on the surface of his being.  The deeper levels would be breached at the celestial consummation, one that would bind you to him for eternity.   Of the outermost remains, he used all of it to make the experience more comfortable for you.  He carefully aligned his body to yours as he filled you for the first time.   He offered to leave the consummation at that—but you brought an end to his wonderings and hooked your leg around him, with a smile inviting he continue.   

He did, of course, thinking how happily he would continue for however so long you wanted him.    And it seemed you did want him, as mere hours later you were rolling back into his arms, requesting he _make love_ to you.   He had lain behind you for hours, not sleeping but watching, touching your hair, your skin, careful not to wake you, content to be with you.   And then he had you wrapped around him again. 

It all felt so good until morning came.  Uncertainty returned as you woke hazily, seeming almost frightened again.  Instinct kicked in, the same which had always protected him, and he retreated with pitiful shame, thinking he had pushed himself to the outskirts of your affection again.   

Until your emotional confession in the evening.   When he had you in his arms again, he was certain to pry every secret from your lips, confirm your wanting of him, and swear to himself that he would love every inch of you and never again allow petty insecurities to stand between you. 

“You did a very good job of loving me, you know,” you speak again now, sitting on the edge of his hand.    You cling to him as he moves, laying on the spinning earth-like ground.   Your feet touch the grass and he remains on his side, watching as you roam in a circle near to him.    “Where are we?” you ask, looking up at his wing as it folds at his side, the tip reaching you.    You stand on your toes and touch it.  

“Your heaven,” he replies.  “You have two.   Prophets are blessed with an awareness of all heaven; you can come and go as you please.   This is a place for you to roam, but you have a personal space which resembles an earthly memory.” 

“Oh,” you say.   A flash of gold moves through him when you sidle alongside him, pressing into his torso.   His wing slides further over you, gently keeping you against him.    You remain there for a moment, smoothing your hand over him as his grace likewise touches your hair.   It’s difficult to measure time in this place, but you linger for quite a while.   Then you sit up, touching his wing.   “Can we see the other heaven?” 

“Of course.” 

He stands in mere seconds, lifting you off the ground and holding you in front of him.   His wings seem to explode around him, flying up and spreading wide, so wild and bright it’s almost blinding—even here where you have nothing to properly blind. 

You close your eyes anyway.   When you open them, you feel something flat beneath your bare feet.   You look around and realize you’re in your bedroom at the bunker.

“Home,” you murmur.   You shiver when you hear the flap of wings, much smaller and very familiar.   You turn around and see Castiel, standing in the shape of his vessel.   The gold thread which draped over you before remains, but as material now.   Likewise is he wrapped in something sheer and blue.   Though you don’t think you have a beating heart, you swear it races as he approaches you.  

He doesn’t say anything and you don’t need him to.  He takes your face in his hands as he did the day you met and he kisses you.   You feel the fabric fall from your body and then his.   Every sensation is heightened to the extreme, a tremor running through your entire form as his hands slide down your body.   You lean against him as he kisses down your neck, hands smoothing over your backside.   You squeak, smacking his chest when he squeezes your bottom. 

“Cas,” you giggle.   He nips at your shoulder then lifts his head, smiling fondly.   “ _Always such trouble,_ ” you say in Enochian. 

In reply, he lifts you off the ground.  Thinking of his true form, all that strength makes sense.   You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your legs his waist, and you hold onto him when he lays you back on the bed.   His mouth moves down your body while his hands settle under your thighs.   He pushes them apart, breaking your hold on his waist.   You tremble and start to breathe when his lips scour your inner thigh, tracing familiar paths.     

“Castiel,” you breathe his name, lifting your hips as he teases you.   You moan with blissful relief when his mouth moves where you need it.    He brings you to climax quickly and, as usual, you expect a breather.  As usual, that doesn’t happen.   You make a high-pitched noise as he continues his assault, your body bending as you partly lift off the bed with your second orgasm.   “Cas,” you moan raggedly, because he isn’t stopping.   He turns you over and lifts your hips, and then his mouth returns.   “Ugh, this isn’t different—” you say, but you say it with a smile. 

Your smile is broken with surprise when you feel him slide inside you, fingers still swirling over your throbbing and sensitive clit.   You finish in seconds, pulsing around him and listening as he breathes and grunts with every thrust.   He holds your hips with both hands, pitching almost erratically against you.   You clench around him and he comes, fingers digging into your hips.   You slump forward with hazy delight when he pulls away.   You slide onto your stomach, laying there for a moment.   You turn your head to look at him and you anticipate a tired, content look.

But it still blazes with desire, his hand running down your back.  

Your body recovers quicker here.  You suppose it does for him too.    He rolls you onto your side and, still a bit delirious, you grab at him messily.    He doesn’t seem to mind, hoisting your leg around his waist as his cock presses at your entrance.   You take hold of him, aligning him, mimicking his low sound when he fills you again.    You have each other in that position and then he rolls you onto your back.   His thrusts fill you differently, almost better, but he swallows your sounds with a hard kiss. 

He makes you come again, following moments after, and you swear you see white for a moment.  

Then you’re settled in his arms.   His wings, scaled to a reasonable proportion again, unfold around him as he lays on his side.   He draws you against him and you nestle your head against his chest, breathing in as his wing slides over you.  

“So how do you think you heard my prayer?” you ask, thinking to the beginning of his story, how he heard your prayer when you were taken captive.  

He kisses the top of your head then breathes out.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, that familiar rough voice sounding in your ears. 

“Can we go back to that other place for a bit?” you ask.  As much as you adore this form, you’re almost starting to miss his other one.  

No sooner has his wing moved do you feel yourself standing.   Gold wraps around you again, a part of your essence here, and you stand while he waits on one knee before you.   He still towers over you.   You lift one hand and he takes that as indication, picking you up.   

Before long, you’re sitting on his shoulder.  You felt a bit ridiculous at first but you adjusted quickly.   You touch one of his faces and he makes what must be a pleased sound.  

“Do you think you were sent to save me?” you ask, sliding off his shoulder and into his hands as he lays down again.   You curl up on his chest, his wings folding around you.    The flame is bright blue, amplified by the white beneath it.  

“Cherished wife,” he says, all his phrases a bit different in pure Enochian, but the compliment no less welcome.   You shudder when you suddenly feel _much_ more, a whirl of emotion beneath his chest as a thousand different feelings unfold beneath you.   Most of them are unpleasant and you wonder why he shares them, but they soon bleed into something much warmer, and then it blisters hot in the most wonderful way.    You think of his story, beginning with worries and fears, ending here.   You understand, the essence of your soul almost completely bleeding into his grace.   Gold flickers in his wings above you like stars in the blue.    “You can see,” he says, “who was sent to save whom.” 

 


End file.
